


Worth

by bluebeard531



Category: LISA (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Disabled Character, Drug Use, Dubious Morality, Fluff and Angst, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Violence, but we stick close to what happen, characters interacting, drabble-ish, it's a semi slow burn, relationships are explored, some things are changed here, the chapters connect though, what if the party was actively participating in the plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2021-04-11
Packaged: 2021-04-12 08:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21618493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeard531/pseuds/bluebeard531
Summary: The worth of things become very important, very quickly, when there's so little of it to spare. Rarity links to worth, that's just how it works. Question is, how much worth could a singular person carry? How much worth can someone like Terry Hintz carry? Can uniqueness save someone like him? Can it save anyone?
Relationships: Brad Armstrong & Terry Hintz, Brad Armstrong/Terry Hintz
Comments: 32
Kudos: 90





	1. Folly Whisper

The chatter of their ever-growing party filled the olatian air. Most of them sat by the fire, a cluster of people gathered together, talking about random subjects, not anything Terry could make out from where he sat at the edge of a cliff. 

He was lying on his back, breathing deeply as he looked up at the star-less sky, kicking his legs absentmindedly as he tried to busy himself with something, anything. He was in an awkward position of trying to keep to himself, but wanting to interact with the other party members. Only problem was, he couldn’t think of anything to say or do to slip in easily without just jabbing himself smack in the middle. Though as incredible as Terry Hintz is, he didn’t like to intrude if he couldn’t find a smooth way to do it.

He silently watched the others as he clasped his hands over his stomach. He watched as Nern began spilling into another large tirade, a near rant over his hatred for his neighbor, or another flying insult at his wife. Rooster was already passed out nearby, Olan half-listening as he played with his bow-string, Beastborn just silently watching the fire, and Mad dog just stroking his spiked club, not listening at all. 

Terry smiled as he stilled a small laugh, it was good to see that Nern didn’t mind the lack of engagement as long as he had someone to tell his stories to. He’d know, he and Brad were some of the first people he’d told his stories to, at least in their journey. Terry listened intently and eagerly after having gone so long without hearing another human voice, while Brad… well, he just kinda rested his head in his hands. Poor guy had a headache after that.

Terry eventually moved on to watch a lone Brad, ever the responsible guy, stroking the fire with a stick, keeping it lit up for the group. He smiled, Brad was really something else. The day he ended up stuck in a tree being chased by a dog, Brad just seemed to have dropped out of the sky that day to save him. The italian man didn’t say much to him the first time they met, just silently accepted his company as Terry blabbed out to him on his “hintlord” persona, but Terry was genuinely surprised when the stoic man stopped and read his hints on the stone walls. 

He felt a warm, fuzzy feeling at knowing someone was actually finding his hints interesting, maybe even helpful. It really gave his healthy ego a bit of a boost, though he had the decency to flush a bright, embarrassed red when Brad read his “good looks” hint, something that got a huff, or what Terry will argue to be a laugh, from the guy. A win in Terry’s book.

Then when they got to Brad’s house… Terry really didn’t know what to say, or do, as he watched Brad crouch down to help, what he assumed was a friend. A dying friend. He was all bloody and beaten up, holding his side. He looked absolutely tired.

He died shortly after Brad talked to him, Terry catching the word “she” in his final words, which caught him off guard, but really, he was already really confused and slightly worried. What could’ve happened here? 

Brad tried to send him off gently (bluntly) after a moment, insisting to go on his journey alone, but Terry had insisted on clinging onto his new friend, lying that he could protect him. The fight soon after that, left Terry embarrassed and scared as he noticed Brad glaring at him throughout the battle after it was revealed he didn’t know how to fight. He remembers crying during the scuffle, knowing he was gonna end up alone again, lying on the ground as he watched Brad fight off the guy.

When it ended, Terry finally picked himself up, rubbing his arm in shame and giving an apologetic look to Brad. It got him an angry huff from the other as he kept moving forward, Terry trudging behind him staring down at the ground. They’d walked a bit, saying nothing at all to each other, until Terry felt something hit him hard, knocking him out cold.

He’d woken up dizzy and unfocused, watching as some guy on a deer threatened Brad or something like that… catching the deal, with his own life being put on the line. Terry grew afraid as he laid on the ground, he knew what Brad would chose, he knew after his previous fuck up he was gonna be dumped as soon as Brad got the chance, he knew what was gonna happen to him.

But he didn’t. Brad chose to give up all his stuff for him. 

That was the moment Terry Hintz’s life had changed forever.

He felt a couple tears run down the sides of his face, moving to wipe them off before anyone took the time to notice. He couldn’t help it, he was just so, so grateful to have someone think he we was worth keeping alive in this apocalyptic wasteland, to value a stranger’s life over their possibly life-saving supplies. He felt so valued at that moment, especially by someone who was as grand as Brad. The strong, muscular, mysterious martial artist.

Brad Armstrong. 

Whom, speaking of which, was walking... over to his direction! Terry jolted, sitting up straight, watching Brad walk up next to him.

“Hey, Brad”, Terry greeted as he watched the shorter man gave him a small wave in return. “How are ya holding up, dude?” Terry asked with a warm smile. 

“Fine”, he said as he stared out at the sky beyond the cliff, the turned back to Terry after a quiet moment of contemplation. “Mind if I sit here?”

Terry wordlessly scooted over and patted the ground next to him enthusiastically. The enthusiasm didn’t fly past Brad’s head, regarding Terry with a small smile as he took a seat. They both sat there wordlessly before Brad, surprisingly broke the silence. 

“How are you doing?” Terry gave Brad a startled look, to which Brad was quick to reply to with an, “I didn’t ask you earlier.”

“Oh, well, you know me. Terry the Hintster, lord of the tutorial! I’m doing great!”

“You were crying.”

“I--huh?”, Terry faltered, looking over to see a deadpan look from Brad, but a with a sliver of concern, or what he wanted to think was concern, in those dark eyes of his.

“You were crying, I could see you from the fireplace”, Brad explained, letting it sink in for Terry for a moment. Brad took a breath before continuing. “Is everything alright?”

Terry searched for words to say to slyly dig himself out of the pseudo-interrogation from Brad, only to come up dry. He sighed. 

“I’m fine, just… things from the last couple of weeks are starting to hit me.”

Brad hummed in agreeance. 

“It’s been a lot, i’ll admit.”

“Yeah, I've never had this many encounters with people, even with those that want to kill me, or you, or the others”, Terry added, looking over to Brad, who didn’t seem as amused by the comment as he was.

“Sorry”, Brad said, staring down at his hands. 

Terry realizing what he implied, backtracked and shook his hands in front of him. 

“No, no! I didn’t mean it like that, I-- I’ve just never interacted with this many people before, some just don’t... like us, but that’s fine! I met you, and you’re brave and strong and shit, so everything’s fine!”, Terry rushed out to pacify, but soon felt his face flush red with the unintentional compliment he gave Brad.

He dared to look up at Brad for a second, watching the normally blank stare convey a rare gleam of surprise. Terry rubbed the back of his neck, and swallowed thickly as he waited for Brad to make fun of him or something, only to be hit with whiplash as Brad cleared his throat awkwardly, looking off somewhere else as he pushed himself off his seat.

“I’m- I’m... glad you feel that way about me”, Brad mumbled out, the roughness in his voice wavering slightly, and Terry could’ve sworn he saw Brad’s face flare red for a second before dissipating as he turned back to him. “We’re all about to settle in for the night. It’s getting colder now, we’re staying by the fire.”

He left the subtle invitation hang at the end, the air still heavy after the previous moments. Terry smiled, releasing the tension in Brad’s shoulders slightly, as he started to pick himself off the ground, mindful of the cliff, when he noticed Brad holding out a hand to help him. He faltered slightly, freezing for a second, something which Brad seemed to take as a rejection. But before he could retract his hand, Terry gently took it, feeling it’s seeping warmth as he ran his fingers over the calloused knuckles. No doubt a fighter’s hand.

He pulled himself up with Brad’s help, still holding Brad’s hand even as he stood. It took a moment before he realized he was still holding it, before he retracted his hand, feeling the cold sting of the olathian air. He laughed nervously, squeezing out an apology through his nervousness.

“You’re fine,'' Brad said, tucking his arms back into the darkness of his poncho, his eyes lingered on Terry for a second before setting them back to the direction of the fireplace, where the group had begun to huddle around. 

Olan, who was still pretending to listen to Nern’s story, was the first to notice the two, waving and calling out to them with a smile, “Hey, fellas! Glad you decided to join us.”

Nern stopped the story right in his tracks and craned his neck to look over at Terry and Brad, realizing Terry hadn’t been there to hear his story. “Ah Terry, my boy, you missed the entire little anecdote, and it was quite a thrilling one this time!”

“Incredibly thrilling”, Brad dryly whispered over to Terry, making the taller of the two choke on a laugh, trying to keep his shoulders from shaking too hard. Brad let out an amused snort himself, breaking off into a low chuckle. 

Nern crossed his arms in mock offense. “Like I said, you could show a little bit more enthusiasm, Brad”, he said, but there was no real bite behind his words. 

“You could tell me the story tomorrow if you want Nern”, Terry placated, Nern pleased with the offer nodded, finally settled down and started getting ready to sleep. Olan shook his head in Terry’s direction, saying something about having a stiff drink with him before he’s given his life sentence.

Beastborn was already lying down on the ground to sleep, still keeping his eyes on the dancing flames, though looking up when Terry sat nearby. He nodded at Terry, not one for words, being raised by animals and all. Terry didn’t really know much on how to interact with the guy, petting him was an idea he had before, but it seemed kinda rude to do so.

So he settled on a nod in return, letting Beasborn get back to watching the fire. Rooster who sat near Beastborn was still asleep, grumbling to himself sometimes, something Beastborn didn’t really appreciate, giving him a sharp kick to the side. Rooster jumped and swatted the air next to him, before settling back down. Terry had to hand it to Beastborn, he was a man of few words, but he was far braver than most people. He’d never have the courage to potentially wake up Rooster. The guy would probably kill him for waking him up.

Mad dog came over after a second, offering Terry a curt, “Hello”. Terry was rather at odds when it came to Mad dog, as he was a rather… subdued and emotionless guy at times, which made Terry initially uneasy when he joined the group. 

He mentioned his sons a couple of times, not for long though, he would sometimes beg for their forgiveness in whispered prayers in between fights. Terry didn’t really know for sure why, but if the spiked club that was lodged in the guy with a “Mad dog Jr.” tattoo was anything to go by, he had a less than comforting hunch. Yeah, Mad dog was a bit of a guy to be wary of, but he seemed okay enough.

Still, it wasn’t enough to keep him from feeling a chill at settling the club to his side when sleeping, as if ready to strike something in his sleep. Terry scooted over a bit to try and create some distance between him and the guy, jumping in surprise as he bumped into whoever was behind him. Which turned out to be Brad, who’d sat down next to him.

Terry yelped, causing Brad to lift a brow. “Jesus! Dude, you scared me!” He said as he fiddled with his hands. 

“Sorry about that, I'm not really well known for sneaking around.”

“Heh, you sure about that? You know, if I didn’t know any better I'd say you were some sort of ninja, or some shit like that.” 

Brad hummed low, seeming to be unsure or unwilling to respond. He’d started off in the distance, leaving Terry in a somewhat comfortable silence. Somewhat. His hands had started fidgeting after a second. He was never good with dealing with silence, before it wasn’t really much of a problem, he could talk to himself… he always had that, kinda. But talking to himself would just come off really weird if he started doing it in front of Brad. Other than that, he distracted himself with writing hin-- that’s it! 

He looked over at Brad, who gave him a curious side-glance. “Hey, do we have any sticks or something like that?”

Brad wordlessly turned around and plucked up a little smoldering twig on the ground near the fire, he sat back holding it out to Terry, “Something like this?”

“It’s perfect!”, Terry beamed at him, nodding excitedly as he took the little burnt stick, blowing off the ash and started dragging it on the ground. “Ran out of paper”, he explained. “So the Hintster’s gotta improvise!” 

Brad leaned over to see what he was doing, only to see something resembling a hint, something about making sure you stuck with close to your friends at night.

Brad silently watched him do so, listening to the scribbles and tracing the letters Terry wrote with his eyes. Unlike many people in olathe, Terry had kept up with his writing skills, refusing to forget and go illiterate, and use his increasingly rare writing skill to leave hints for people to read. To help people on their own separate journeys.

He stuck his tongue out, concentrating on putting the final details to his hint, before signing it off with another one of his nicknames, “Terr-cares”, and sticking the stick straight up on the ground for someone to spot. Terry beamed bright at his work as he did so, out of the corner of his eye catching Brad quietly watching him.

He found a softness to Brad’s face at that moment, relaxed and at peace. He’s almost never seen anything like it, almost. He only ever sees Brad this restful when sleeping, but to see him awake like this... was something else. He could’ve looked at him like this forever, but unfortunately Brad made a split moment of eye contact, before breaking it and his brows furrowing again into his usual scowl. 

Terry frowned a little at that, but otherwise shrugged it off. Brad was probably just tired, that was all. Speaking of being tired, he was pretty beat. Terry yawned, stretching out his back and lying back onto the ground, using his laced hands as a makeshift pillow. He hummed in content, looking over to Brad who was giving him an amused look. 

“Comfy?”

“Very”, Terry responded with a smile, Brad chuckling lowly as he too lied on his back along with Terry, though keeping some distance between the two. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, and closing his eyes, the moment slipping back into silence. Terry again grew a tiny bit restless. “Goodnight, Brad.”

There was no response back, only deep, slow breaths as Brad slept next to him. Terry frowned, waiting a couple of seconds before whispering to himself. “Goodnight, Terry.” He had to admit, the self-addressed words carried less weight than if someone else said it to him... But it made him feel better, and plus, there was no one else really awake to criticize him for talking to himself.

No one at all.

It took a while for Terry to eventually fall asleep. When he did, the fire was already out.


	2. The ill gravediggers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a rough morning, a rough afternoon too. It's always like that, and it's normal. But it shouldn't be. Hugs and stuff like that is normal. It's normal... right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some withdraw descriptions and hints of past childhood trauma.

The next morning was a rough one, or at the very least, rougher than a typical morning in the Olathian wasteland. Terry had woken up several times during the night, readjusting himself to get comfortable, which in itself wouldn’t be too detrimental to his night, but it significantly much harder to be comfortable when sleeping on a rocky floor. Nightmares also didn’t help much either, those kept waking him up in a cold sweat with a dangerously sporadic heartbeat several times last night. 

But sleep never did come easily for Terry either way, this was becoming a typical morning routine. Still, that didn't mean he wasn’t tired when he felt Olan shake him awake, (only to be kicked awake by Beastborn). His lack of energy just made waking up a painful experience, he’d just have to hope he could keep up for the day. Of course Brad wouldn’t let him drag too far behind. 

At least he’d hoped that would be the case, before Mad Dog went over to check on Brad, poking him a couple of times and giving him a one over. He’d bent down, helping Brad up and hosting him onto his feet, Brad looking sickly and pale. Brad had joy withdrawal that morning.

Terry’s heart clenched as he watched Brad struggle with his footing, and sweat beads form on his furrowed brow, masochistically determined to keep moving forward. Something which the whole group seemed to be against at catching a glimpse of Brad’s state. It certainly was something that jarred Terry out of his previous stupor, enough to jump into attention, ready to assist Brad with anything if need be. 

He’d kept pace with the group, rushing up next to Brad whenever he began to shake a bit harder, or when he muttered under his breath, never quite catching what he was saying. This was a usual thing, the withdrawls. Though Brad didn’t seem to take joy often in their journey, opting to stay sober, he must have used a lot of it back before he’d met Brad. He’d never seen anyone this fucked up after taking normal drugs, but then again, Joy wasn’t a normal drug. It was addictive, and destructive, and- and… 

Terry wouldn’t know, he’d never actually tried joy. He was always more of a nervous smoker before the flash, he’d quit smoking after he’d learned the hard way he wouldn’t be able to process it. But he knew how tough it was to quit something.

Whoever they’re searching for must be really important to Brad, Terry reasoned. After all, Brad was choosing to risk waking up ill and in pain, like he was right now. And everytime it happened, Terry’s heart just broke a little more.

He hopes that person knows how much Brad loves them, he certainly does. He’s witnessing the proof of that love right now, as Brad ducks near a rock, holding onto it for support as he empties his stomach for the third time that morning. Terry lets him do so in peace, watching from amongst the group, because something about it just really made Terry want to cry and he didn’t want Brad to see him cry. He had enough to deal with as it is.

As they continued walking down the valley, they began encountering corpses again. Not a rare sight, but something that just really could be a bother sometimes. Brad turned to look at the group, a gruff and sickly undertone in his voice as he said, “Everyone, check for supplies.” They didn’t need to know where they needed to check. 

Terry walked up to a guy slumped over, on a cliffside wall, drying blood spilling from his skull. He looked as if he'd been bashed in the side of the head, something Mad Dog was quick to comment on when he’d enthusiastically, (Or as enthusiastically as Mad Dog could get) examined the injuries. Terry was really tempted to ask the guy if he’d been a forensics dude or something before the flash, but the fear of his club kept him from running his mouth with questions for Mad Dog. 

Terry began to gingerly search the body for anything that might be worth taking, heart skipping a few beats when he felt the cold skin of the man. It was like receiving an electric shock, with all the slimy-wrong feelings crashing into his chest like a wave. Terry couldn’t stomach it at all. He yanked his hand back, yelping when the body fully fell over making a thunk noise, effectively catching Brad’s attention.

Terry took a couple deep breaths before giving Brad a shaky thumbs up, trying and failing to convince the guy that he wasn’t having a heart attack at the moment. And he would’ve felt bad for having Brad deal with his bullshit right now, he really would’ve, but at that moment, Rooster had suddenly walked up to Terry and wordlessly pushed Terry down to sit on the ground. The farmer sat next to him after a moment, throwing a glance at Brad, as if to affirm that everything was under control. Brad seemed to buy it before turning back to his own search. 

Terry stayed silent as Rooster sat the body up, prompting Terry to begin hugging his legs for comfort, he really didn’t like the idea of how comfortable some of these people were just touching them. It seemed wrong. It felt wrong. He hugged his legs tighter to himself, like a pseudo-security blanket, something he normally did whenever his world all went to hell, which it often did. And it made things feels better, he felt better.

While stuck in his train of thought, Rooster had stopped, turning to look at Terry and giving him an expectant look.

“Well are you just going to sit there or are you going to help carry your load?”, the red-haired man bluntly asked. Terry had to take a second before he leaned forward with a shaky sigh, gingerly reaching for the dead guy’s poncho, lifting it forward, towards himself, and searching through the pockets, mindful of not touching the body. Rooster watched Terry, ever the strange guy, flinching if he ever came too close to touching the corpse. 

Rooster groaned after a minute of watching… whatever this was. Terry felt himself grow smaller, shame creeping up on him. He knew Rooster didn’t interact with people much, so his patience for them was -iffy, he’d just hoped he had enough to spare him from the humiliation of his discomfort. He just couldn’t touch the body, he just couldn’t.

He heard Rooster take a calming breath next to him, “Have you ever really done this before?”

Terry looked over silently at him and shrugged.

“Only when Brad... needs help.”

“Which is often isn’t it?”

“...”

Rooster hummed low, moving forward, stony-faced, as he began to strip the body clean of “armor”, throwing it to the side, and pocket little bags of random shit he found in their pockets. He gave a side-glance at Terry who was now comfortably searching the threadbare poncho he’d launched off the corpse. 

Terry was certainly a strange man by his standards. He was well-meaning, though clumsy, eager to please (Which in this world could be a dangerous thing), and so, so easily frightened by what this world would consider “normal”. 

In his short time with these people, Rooster had come to understand the dynamic of the group, but Terry always stuck out like a sore thumb. He couldn’t place Terry down entirely, which made him wonder why Brad had him stick around. Was Terry here on his own will? Why? What was he doing here?

The farmer made a thoughtful noise, causing Terry to look up at him questioningly.

“How’d you meet Brad?”

Terry blinked, that came out of nowhere, but he could deal with that. He straightened up where he sat on the ground, an eager smile on his face as he recounted the day.

“Well, I, Terry the lord of the tutorial, had left my village and my adoring denizens in search of adventure and to spread the hints I wrote to the rest of this world. And I’d made it far, until on my way, I'd met a wild beast--”

“A joy mutant?”, Rooster questioned as he looked over at Terry, concern written on his face. Terry faltered.

“Um, no… some other beast, but just as terrifying!”

Rooster had his doubts that anything else would be as menacing as one of those monsters, but he let Terry continue. 

“So, there I was, being chased up a tree, by a cliff, and with the devil beast roaring at me. Just as I was going to descend to fight the monster, I'd noticed I'd gotten hurt, and the pain of my injury hit me. I was…” Terry stopped, he wasn’t feeling the mood for this story, so he dropped the act. “...I was stuck, and I didn’t know what to do.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, staring at the ground, Rooster watching him with a critical eye. 

“What happened then?”

Terry picked his head up a little with a smile. 

“Brad did. He came over, fought off the beast, and the rest is history.”

Rooster didn’t say anything at first, opting to let the moment sink into silence for a bit, before turning back to the body, grunting as he lifted himself up from the ground. Terry followed suit.

“Well this body is clean, and I'm pretty sure that some of this food is slightly doused in blood, but we should be fine, anyways…” He turned to look at Terry. “I want to offer you something, Terry.”

Terry had to take a double take at that last part, trying to make sure he was hearing Rooster correctly. The farmer had noticed.

“Look Terry, I myself have never gotten along well with Brad. The whole way we met was him holding my precious Goldie, hostage.” Terry winced, remembering the tense atmosphere in the farmer’s house when Brad came in with the chicken. Rooster had not been happy.

“I’m sorry about that, maybe I can--”

He held up a hand to stop Terry.

“That’s the thing I was gonna say. You seem to be much closer to Brad than anyone else in the group.” Terry smiled brightly with the comment, he liked to think he really was close to Brad. “So, if you could talk Brad into letting me hold my Goldie once in a while, as she’s still under his possession, I’ll help you with the grave-digging shit.”

Terry smiled and struck his hand out, “Deal!”

Rooster with a chuckle shook his hand, watching as the strange man scuttled over to Brad, the stockier man regarding Terry with what looked like a smile. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but before he knew it Terry was waving him over and he had his prized hen in his arms. The farmer cradling the fowl as it clucked absentmindedly, losing his constant scowl for a smile.

Goldie must mean a lot to him, Terry mused as he regarded the two with a soft smile of his own. Though it dimmed after a second, he wasn’t sure why, he just felt...sad. Which was a terrible description, he knew that, but still...

His train of thought was cut short as Rooster looked up at both of them after the moment of reunion.

“Thank you, Terry. Brad.” He said nothing more, just turning and began to pace around, just cradling Goldie. Brad turned to him soon as Rooster was out of hearing range.

“Making friends, I see?”

Terry smiled at Brad, mood lifting. “You always wanna keep a couple of your friends close in case all goes to hell. Having close friends can increase your health, your strength and ability to fight in battles.”

“Is that my ‘Terry hint’ of the day?”, Brad asked, and Terry could practically hear the smile hidden by his dark beard. 

“Hell yeah, dude! Brought to you by your friendly neighbor-hood, Terry Hintz”, he said as he struck his classic cheesy pose, smile beaming as he threw a punch into the air. He popped open one eye to see if Brad was at all amused, as he did tend to be catatonic when it came to his reactions to things. 

Brad didn’t seem to really react to his little antics, and Terry began deflating a little, embarrassed that he even did that. Why does he always sabotage himself like this? Why does he have to be so weird? Those thoughts plagued him as he settled his arms back to hugging himself, embarrassed. “Heh, sorry, I’m super weird, dude”, Terry muttered looking off to the side.

But he didn’t expect the next thing Brad said to him.

“Terry, you are a weird guy, but I like that. You always find a way to surprise me, and believe me, it’s not something that’s easy to do anymore.” Terry felt his face grow warm and a giddy smile slip onto his face, Brad chuckled softly at him, before he dug for something inside his poncho, revealing it to be some wrinkled, blank paper. 

“I know you said you didn’t have any paper left for your hints, it’s a little damaged, but I thought you might--” Brad couldn’t finish his explanation in time before Terry smooshed him into a hug, little “thank you’s” spilling out of him as he nuzzled into the martial artist, holding him tight and smiling against him. Brad stiffened at the hug, unmoving. His body tensed, and a stressful feeling began to flood over Brad in his sickly state, and it continued to get worse as he felt blurs of red fill his head, making him feel ill.

He tried to take deep breaths, assuring himself that he was fine, and that nothing was happening, but it wasn’t helping. The spiders...

Brad felt himself ripped out of the thought as Terry jumped away from him, wearing an apologetic look on his face. He looked really nervous and concerned as he began to spill out apologies, which Brad could only make out a few words from, too busy trying to keep himself from spilling out his stomach contents again.

“--I’m sorry dude, I just-- I didn’t mean to, I--”

“You’re fine. I understand.” Brad briskly said, handing him the paper, nodding awkwardly to him as he did, before briskly walking away from Terry, with Terry just watching him go. He watched as Brad went back to the group, so easily able to direct them and strike conversation with them. He could really only watch. 

That and feel pain well up in his chest as a familiar feeling enveloped him. Loneliness couldn’t just watch him back, it just had to give him a painful hug too. Didn’t it?

It's normal. This is normal. He gives hugs to himself all the time, he hugs himself. It feels normal. Is it not normal? He feels sick. Is this how he made Brad feel? Sick? 

He swallowed thickly as he fell back on the feeling, forcing his legs to move when he saw the group begin to walk away, ready to move on. He strayed and lingered in the back.

He wonders if the group could hear the whispers he breathed out to himself, or if it just wasn’t worth their time to ask.


	3. Telling the times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olathian time could always have it be more.

The cliffs created overcasting shadows with the light of the rising sun, a new day so to speak, or maybe several days. The sun became an awful, weird thing after the flash, lingering in the sky much longer than it should, drying the earth under people’s feet, evaporating much of the water, overall being a nuisance. A nuisance, much like himself, was Terry’s thought as he sat on the ground next to Olan, listening to another one of Nern’s stories. He drifted in and out of focus as he thought back to... yesterday? Two days ago? Three-

He shook his head, three is stretching it.

But anyways, after Brad had expressed he was… uncomfortable with Terry, back in the valley, he tried to make it a point to not interact much with the hintster. It carried onto today, with Brad taking Beastborn, Mad dog, and Rooster along with him to clear out any enemies on their path, leaving him behind. Sure, Brad also left Nern and Olan behind, and they weren’t really being LEFT behind, but it still kinda hurt.

But you know what, that was fine with Terry, if Brad needed some time, he understood, he was fine with it, why wouldn’t he be? Brad needs time, he’s a lonely guy, he must have a hard time with friends because of how long he must have gone without them. Yeah, he needs time.

_ Not him. He. Terry needs time. _

Terry frowned, willing himself to steer away back onto his original train of thought. Time, Time. How long had they been here? Terry looked up, flicking his eyes between Nern, who was deep into another story about his neighbor, Tom forknight was it? 

He remembered the first time he and Brad met Nern up on that lone mountain top, the asian man sitting on his signature stool, looking off pensively at the vast emptiness of Olathe. 

_ “...and surprisingly it just kinda stuck. I mean, I never would’ve thought a little bit of gasoline and a broken flip flop could make a decent glue”, he told Brad as they both trekked the mountainous range. Terry laughed to himself, Brad looking over to him as he did. “I guess I gotta thank my 4th grade science teacher now. Thanks a whole bunch, Mr. Tacks!” _

_ Brad snorted. Terry beamed beside him. _

_ “What’d he do to get that nickname?”  _

_ Terry snickered. Brad raised a brow.  _

_ “Well, originally his nickname was Mr. Ass--” Brad hummed in thought as Terry continued. _

_ “Then, after the tacks were placed on his chair--” Terry paused, smiling.  _

_ “He became Mr. Ass HOLES, if you know what I mean.” Brad huffed out a laugh, letting his shoulders shake a little. “ ‘Course we couldn’t really call him that, so we had to call the poor guy Mr. Tacks, which has gotta be more humiliating than Mr. Ass or Assholes, in my opinion.” _

_ Brad kept chuckling, Terry laughing along with him. But he stopped when he heard Brad’s laughter cut off abruptly. He looked over to Brad, he looked stoney and serious. Cold. _

_ To be honest, it kinda frightened him when he got like that. _

_ “Uh, Brad, dude… what’s up--” _

_ Brad nodded his head up, not looking at Terry. “That.” _

_ Terry looked up to see a lone man on the top of a mountain. He furrowed his brow in worry. _

_ “Is he watching us?” He got no answer from Brad. Or at least not verbally, as Brad started moving forward towards the guy. Terry felt his stomach drop. _

_ “Brad? Dude!”, he hissed at him nervously. “What are you doing?!” _

_ “I want to know if he knows anything.” Brad didn’t stop walking forward. _

_ Terry trailed after him like a lost puppy. _

_ “Brad! What if this guy attacks us?!” _

_ “I’ll fight him--” _

_ “What if he’s got someone up there with him?!” _

_ “I’ll fight them off too.” _

_ “But--” _

_ “Terry, this man is sitting on the top of a mountain. He can see a good chunk of Olathe from up there. He could have seen her-- er, them. He may know where my loved one could’ve gone.” _

_ Terry stayed silent for a second. It’s the most he’s ever said to him. First time he’d officially confirmed who they were looking for was a girl, which was something that should've gotten his attention. But it didn’t. This was really serious to Brad, really serious, and he should let him just do this without further argument, but he didn’t. He felt as if he should’ve dropped it, but at the same time he didn’t. _

_ “And if he also means ‘them’ harm?” _

_ A second went by before Brad’s face quickly darkened. Terry swallowed.  _

_ “Then i’ll kill him.” _

_ He turned away from Terry completely, climbing up the ropes of the mountain, ignoring the frightened man he’d left behind. Terry didn’t pay much mind to it though, choosing to hug himself for comfort, he’d never felt that scared of Brad before. _

_ He slowly made his way to follow Brad up the mountain, arms shaking as he pulled himself up. Terry had to stop a few times to watch Brad go up the mountain, swiftly moving about. He tried to give him distance. He did. Several times he stopped to catch his breath. His chest hurt.  _

_ When he finally had caught up to Brad, he’d slowly and carefully peered his head over the cliff, his mop of messy hair covering his eyes somewhat. He’d looked over to see Brad and the other man talking, or more so the man. Brad didn’t seem to be able to get a single word in with how much this guy was rambling on about.  _

_ The man suddenly stopped, spotting Terry. He’d exclaimed a sound of surprise, causing Brad to jolt out of his stupor and Terry to yelp in sudden fear. He ducked his head down, eyes barely visibly now. Then the strangest thing happened. _

_ “Oh hello there, young man! What are you doing over there?” _

_ Terry felt his eyes go wide in surprise at the rather friendly greeting, he’d poked his head up some more to fully meet the stranger’s pensive but warm eyes.  _

_ The man smiled, Brad watched the stranger carefully. Almost suspiciously. _

_ Terry swallowed thickly, opening his mouth to say something, only to come up dry on words, surprisingly Brad was the one to speak for him.  _

_ “That’s Terry. He’s…” Terry perked up. “... a party member of mine.” He deflated.  _

_ Nern hummed happily, smiling.  _

_ “Well hello then, Terry, my name is Nern. The greatest historian of our time!” _

_ Terry let a small, meek smile spread on his face. “Hello, Nern, I--” _

_ “--I see you and your friend, Brad, here--” Brad had tried to say something, but was interrupted again. “-- are sticking around my humble abode for a while by the looks on your faces. You see, I was in the middle of telling one of my several thousands of stories collected over the years, many of tales to tell. Care to hear one?” _

_ Terry couldn’t refuse that offer, nodding excitedly, happy to listen to another human voice out there. Especially one with a story! He scrambled up, and sat down criss-cross applesauce in front of Nern, not missing the beaming pride and joy on Nern’s face at finally having someone enthusiastically and happily listening to one of his tales.  _

_ He’d soon began spewing words out of his mouth, and sewing together pieces of a story that made no sense, but Terry didn’t mind. He was soaking up every word regardless. Though he wasn’t so engrossed in the story that he’d completely missed Brad plopping down beside him, looking as though he might throw himself off a cliff.  _

_ Terry looked over to him. Brad grumbled under his breath. He quietly snickered, covering the laughter with a hand over his mouth as he looked over at the disgruntled Brad. He quietly whispered, so as not to disturb Nern’s excited story telling, “What, don't you like stories?” _

_ “He’s been at this for ten minutes with nothing useful to say. Ten minutes.”, he mumbled, a growl of displeasure slipping into it.  _

_ “You sure, Olathe time could have it be more--” _

_ “Terry…” _

_ He gave Brad a cheeky smile, “Just messing with you dude.” _

_ Brad huffed, turning to face Nern, though there was a trace of an upturned lip under his beard. Terry smiled. “Is that a ‘hint’ of a smile I see?” _

_ “Dunno, ‘Hintlord’. Maybe”, Brad played along, smiled growing slightly more visible. _

_ Terry smiled back, turning to Nern only to see him finish off his story. Happily exclaiming that he was enjoying their company and blasting off onto another one as a celebratory move, a toast of sorts to 2 new friends. Terry nearly had to drag Brad back from choking Nern to death that day.  _

Terry smiled to himself as he pulled back from the memory, slipping back into listening to Nern tell his story. Olan had long fallen asleep next to him. 

But how long ago was that? How long had he sat there now?

Terry frowned.

How long has Brad been gone?

How long since he last talked to him?

A day? Two days? Three. Was three stretching it? Was four?

Olathian time could have it be more.

He brought his knees up to his chest and hugged himself. He faintly heard Nern trail off uneasily. 

“Terry, my boy?”

He jolted in his seat, bringing his head up to look at Nern, he saw him looking back at him, concern stretched across his face. He spoke, keeping it short, to the point. Terry never did like it when he did that.

“Is something wrong, my boy?”

Terry didn’t say anything for a second, looking up instead at the sky, A cloudless, blue vast sky with a scornful sun adorning it. It was such a nice day despite it all...

“Hey, Nern?”, he started. He felt Olan shift beside him. He could tell he was awake now, listening carefully. “How did you tell the time after The Flash happened?”

Nern took a split second pause. Olan took the time to put a word in for the first time that day. “Any reason you might wanna know, Terry?”

He shrugged, “It just helps, I guess.” They left it at that. 

He’d learned a few things that day, like shadow tracking and counting seconds, and how Nern had once taken and put a clock back together once. Olan had told him about a watch he once found that never seemed to work right. Terry soaked up every word. 

He now knows Brad returned about a day later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N- So sorry for the wait. I've been slightly more busy lately. I hope you all like this chapter though, I kept rejecting drafts one after another. This took way too damn long, :(


	4. Posters and Hints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a world.

The paper fluttered just slightly as he tried to flatten it up against the rock wall, trying to get it to stick. Terry stuck his tongue in concentration, faintly ignoring the tang of the air hitting his tongue, as he finally got the withered paper to flatten up, being careful not to smear the writing on it. Another hint to decorate the walls of this desolate place, in his mind it made the cliff look a little bit more inviting, more...populated. 

Just a little bit of Terry-forming! Haha.

He stood back when he felt he was done, placing his hands on his hips and cocking his head with a smile. “There see! I told you it’d stick”, he said to no-one in particular, no one was around to hear him speak to himself.

The group had kept walking off, Terry sticking close to the back as he plastered some of his hints on the cliff sides. He had a considerably large breadth of room between him and the party, which might be a bit of a hint for himself that he should try and catch up now. A hint he heeded with a dropping smile and a sigh. 

He dropped the pose and did a sort of fast-walk, careful not to kick up too much dirt from the ground. It was incredibly easy to forget how dry and dusty everything was, all incredibly harsh on the lungs. He knew. The sun didn’t help anything either.

It’d taken a bit but he caught up to the group, half-heartedly trying to keep up the pace as he struggled to keep his breath even and quiet. He tucked his mop of hair behind his ears, clearing up his eyes, only to squint from the blazing sun raining down on them. He dropped his gaze slightly, enough to not look directly up at the sky, nor look down to the ground. 

The sun had a tendency to not only bake the ground hot, but also glare at you from the bright surface of the sandy terrain. Like it was irate at you for thinking you’d gone through enough crap to just leave you alone, as if you had a right to look or walk away. 

He felt some beads of sweat start to form on his brow, and his neck burned. He sighed. Hell really was a joy, wasn’t it?

He’d shifted his eyes around, catching sight of those posters cluttering the walls, defiling the cliffs with its contents. A little girl in a pink poncho. Buddy, was the name that was scattered in hushed whispers people traded around, a ripple that had fallen upon Olathe, the name of salvation. The name sighed out in puffs of lust. 

He felt his brow furrow, a slight discomfort filled him that clogged his throat with a slimy lump at the words on the posters, ringing like an outcry of war propaganda. 

_ “FIND HER.” _

What a world.

He took a second to pick his head back up to see Brad at the front of the group, rigidly marching forward. Brad never took the time to turn his head towards the cliffside walls, and when he did, he did so briefly, then turn away in a matter of seconds, gaze unfocused. He knew it was the posters. 

~8~

They hadn’t talked in a while now. 

Nothing was really stopping them. Brad didn’t look as sickly as he did a while back, he’d gotten past his withdrawal well enough. 

Just as well as any other time he did. 

He’d caught Brad looking at his palm, contemplative as he examined three bright-blue orbs in his palm. It was the middle of the night, and yet the smoldering fire was still burning enough for him to see those pills as bright as day. Terry wonders if Joy was meant to be sky-colored. A happy sunny sky. Sunshine in a capsule. 

A nice day was worth a lot nowadays. Was that the appeal?

Brad had caught him staring. 

Neither of them said anything for a while. Terry eventually had to turn over on his side, away from the campfire and boring his eyes into the dark sky of Olathe. He didn’t fall asleep until he’d heard Brad’s gravely sigh and the shuffling of a poncho, as if he was stuffing something back in.

He’d almost let out a dry sob of relief he didn’t know he was holding. 

But he did know he was so undeniably proud of Brad.

He’d wanted to tell him that, but somehow it felt cruel to offer those words. As if a measly, “I’m proud of you” from a stranger could ever come to be worth as much as the vision of a nice day. An escape from hell. 

So he settled for lying on his back, not fully turned over, but not looking away from him either. Despite the slight ache in his chest, he lied back and tilted his head to look over at Brad

The fire had been out and Brad was heavily asleep.

He’d lied awake for the rest of the night. 

~8~

Brad didn’t talk to him for a while.

Understandably though, Brad was busy. 

So Terry made himself busy to beat out any boredom or loneliness, and such. Which wasn’t much at all to be busy about, unless he wrote and rewrote his hints, switching the wording, erasing a mistake, upsetting himself over a smudge, crying about how much it didn’t matter, or just ripping the paper into tiny pieces. 

He’d kept the pieces on him, inside his pocket where he’d stuffed his hand in to muffle the noise they made when he walked.

He’d felt guilty about ripping up the paper Brad had gone through the trouble of getting him. But what could one really do with ripped, crumpled, tear-stained paper?

Not much, he presumed. But Brad had gotten him that paper.

He shifted his hand, trying to keep quiet.

It was an incredibly subdued morning from the group. 

He looked around himself to the rest of the party. Nern was quiet, handling his stool placed over his head, struggling to angle it just right to block out the sun, while Olan seemed to be busy trying to keep himself steady with a hand on his brow, nursing a hangover. Rooster didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, he’d always kept to himself in the mornings. 

Mad dog and Beastborn were surprisingly the two people to actually say good-morning to him today. Well, Mad dog did. Beastborn gave him a sharp kick to the side, which despite the pain, was a welcome gesture as it was enough to wake him up from another night of bad sleep. 

Though they didn’t say much, it was enough to warrant him to take his spot right next to them in the back this morning. Mad dog had spared him a side glance when he’d settled next to them, and gave him a curt nod before staring back at the desert. Terry didn’t bother trying to gain back his attention. 

He turned to Beastborn then, who was on all fours, a disgruntled and pained look on his face as he did so. He’d pick up his knuckles off the baking ground, leaving his trotting to switch into a sort of limp, as he swatted off the bits of hot sand stuck to his hands. 

He knew that Beastborn had a habit of walking on all fours, that no doubt came from his background of being raised by animals, but he never knew why he insisted on doing so a day like this. But he knew better than to say anything.

Still, that didn’t keep him from wincing as Beastborn finally stood up on two feet after a particularly sharp hiss escaped from the wild man. Terry craned his neck over Beastborn’s shoulder to look at his hands to see a lightly-forming burn injury, and he had to agree, that looked like it hurt. 

The group slowed slightly, Brad tilting his head back just a bit to look over at Beastborn and Terry. “Is everything alright back there?”, he asked, his gravely and unused voice sounded out. 

Terry had lifted his head up immediately at attention at the first words he’s heard from Brad in a week. He’d wanted to say something, but the words caught in his throat and he found himself unable to really say anything. He’d looked over to Mad dog, as if asking him to fill in, being the closest. 

Mad dog followed suit. “Burn injury from the sand. It’s nothin' big, just uncomfortable.”

Brad nodded and looked off at the desert, pensive for a moment before making his gaze stutter back over to Terry, who no doubt looked off-put by the sudden eye-contact.

Brad seemed to hesitate for a moment. 

“Terry... heal him up, please. We need to take a break either way, and something to eat. We’ll keep going later.” He said nothing else, as he got out a few bottles of potato liquor and jerky.

“Oh god! Finally!”, Olan half-wheezed out as he let himself fall on his back, making sure to fall on his olive-dyed cape and keep his back off the burning sand. “We’ve been walking forever now, holy shit.”

Terry grinned at the archer. Leave it to Olan to be able to kick-back and unwind as soon as the silence is over. 

The other party members made similar gestures, with Nern letting his stool land roughly on the ground, and just slumping on it, Rooster just flat out collapsing and falling asleep, and Mad dog walking off to do his own thing. 

Brad, while he did pass out a couple bottles to Olan and Nern, did seem to look slightly relieved to finally stop and do something else. He especially looked relieved at the opportunity to take a couple of swigs from the liquor bottle. So relieved. 

There were still a couple of posters out here.

Terry turned back to Beastborn, who had taken to try and massage the pain off his hands. Terry felt his eyes widen and he quickly caught Beastborn’s wrists and pulled them apart.

“Eep! Don’t do that, you’ll make a tear or something in your hand.” He looked around before pulling Beastborn over to sit in the shade of a withered tree. Terry let himself linger in it slightly. The shade felt nice.

He shook himself back to focus, Beastborn quietly watching him as he examined his palms.

“Always try to keep a layer of clothing between you and the sand floor”, Terry said, going into his hintlord spiel, letting himself begin to ramble. “I dunno if you’ve ever heard the myth of cooking an egg on asphalt, but despite it being a myth, and the ground not being made of asphalt, this hellfire-heat can sure burn your skin.”

Beastborn hummed, as if giving Terry a sign of agreeance, before Terry let go of his wrists and took to making a show of rubbing his hands together. 

Times like this were when Terry felt like a doctor, a real doctor! Not like one of those pretend one he got to be when one of his nurses lent him a stethoscope to stick up to a teddy bear’s chest, but one who actually got to help people. 

It was different than handing out hints that he’d have to wait to see if anyone read them for results. Healing, however, had to take place immediately and right in front of you, so no weird tricks or anything like that. 

He took pride in being able to heal people just like that, immediately. 

Sure, it was really bizarre and downright terrifying, the first time he did it, when he didn’t know he could do it. It just kinda...happened. He’d seen Brad take a really hard punch to the face that busted up his lip and gave him a nasty black eye. 

He’d panicked and took Brad’s face gingerly into his hands, and it just happened in a flash. It felt like he was being sapped out of energy. 

Brad had frozen up when it happened, and just locked eyes with him, unable to say anything. Terry would’ve laughed at the stunned look on Brad’s face after he’d felt the swell of his black eye, and split lip disappear, but leave it to his luck that he didn’t quite get to enjoy it. 

Of course, as soon as he healed him up, he’d passed out cold, leaving a very freaked out Brad to watch as he dropped to the ground. He’d awoken a little bit later to a Cocola-cola being gently, albeit a bit shakily nursed to him, he’d also encountered a very relieved Brad, who was torn between thanking Terry or killing him for doing something so stupidly dangerous. 

After that, Brad had been collecting several cans of CoCola Cola, a little something to keep Terry from collapsing every time he healed someone. Even now, with more party members in the group besides the two of them, Brad was trying to keep him from using his healing ability so much.

But then again, that was then. This is now. He’s stronger now and can help people better now too.

He let that thought fill him with joy as he took hold of Beastborns wrists again and pressed his thumbs lightly down on the injury’s edge. Soon enough, the burn’s mark began to subside and the pain diminished with it on Beastborn’s side. 

“And there we are! Good as new!” Terry said as he gave a goofy grin, proud of a job well-done. Beastborn’s stony face subsided as he touched his palm, seemingly satisfied, and dare he say, happy to have the injury completely gone. 

He picked his head back up to look at Terry. “T-th.. you…”, Beastborn muttered softly, his voice grainy and clipped, but it was still enough for Terry to hear.

He felt his face break into another ecstatic grin. It wasn’t often Beastborn tried to speak, much less to have him say “thank you”, or at least try to. It was an incredibly rare occurrence and having it said to him, felt... special, and definitely worth the use of energy despite feeling the creep of exhaustion nip at him.

“You’re welcome, dude!” Beastborn hummed again, before slumping back against the support of the tree, eyes closed and drinking in the shade. 

Terry in the meantime, took to standing back up again, trying to keep the dizzy sway out of his movements, maybe no one would notice. 

Beastborn had taken to opening his eyes slowly, and quietly watching the hint human seem to tremble a little. His brow furrowed in concern and he’d made motion to lift himself off the ground, ready to catch the guy fell over or something. But just as he had started to sit up, Brad the human walked over. 

Brad wordlessly tucked an arm around Terry, supporting him and keeping him upright. He nodded at Beastborn, assuring everything was under control, which Beastborn took, but not without eyeing the good human that healed him, carefully as he was led away by the other man. 

Terry had felt his heart quicken by several times, slight panic filling him as he felt a strong arm keep him upright. He didn’t have to turn his head to know who it was. 

He was led over to the patch of shade Brad was resting in not a few moments ago, where a little can of Cocola-Cola was waiting for him. Terry felt his cheeks flush red a little. 

“Aw, thanks, dude. Just what the doctor prescribed”, he said lightly with a faint smile, it dropped when Brad seemed to stiffen up. Nervousness suddenly filled him. They hadn’t talked since that night with the Joy. “Sorry.”

“...You’re fine.” Brad set him down in the shade, passing him the coke and sitting down beside him. “It’s a little warm-”

“-I don’t mind, it’s still sweet.” Terry choked for a second. “The soda!-I mean…”

Brad didn’t say anything, he just took a deep breath, like he needed it, like he hadn’t been breathing for the last few moments he was with him. Terry sipped at his coke, letting his eyes dart around, giving up when everytime they landed, they landed on Brad. Brad was looking back at him.

“Look, i’m really, really sorry dude”, Terry started shakily, setting his coke down to hug his legs. “I didn’t mean anything by watching, I just couldn’t get to sleep.”

“I know”, Brad murmured, closing his eyes and letting his head rest on the cliff wall with a soft thunk. 

It seemed as if that was it of the conversation, and Terry was half-tempted to keep sipping his drink, but then he heard Brad sigh deeply. 

“I- I’ve always had a… problem with this. Even before the Flash.”

Terry lifted his head up slowly in interest, taking to sitting up. Brad never talked about his life before the Flash, and the way he said that, with such fragility, just made whatever he was about to say more important. Not that anything else he says is less important to Terry.

“I took painkillers before. I’d get them from a friend of mine”, Brad continued, looking down at his hands. “Took a lot. I don’t remember how much, but I couldn’t stop.”

He took a shaky breath. “I took it in front of kids a lot. Not right in front of them I mean, but I was on them a lot, so stuff overlapped, but… Fuck.”

Brad shut his eyes, trying to steer off a headache. He opened his eyes gently, only to find Terry watching him closely. Not with disdain, or disgust. Just concern. 

It’s irrational, to hold any concern for someone like him, someone who doesn’t deserve it. Like him, Brad thinks. He deserved what happened to him, and what keeps happening. But then…

Terry’s moved closer to him, lifting his hand up to his back, stopping just inches short. He gives Brad a questioning look, waiting for a go ahead, and when he gets it, he doesn’t hesitate to rub his back in comfort. 

Terry shifts closer, still giving Brad a breadth of distance. Letting him gather his bearings. 

Brad closes his eyes again, his headache knocking at his head now, and Terry waits to see if he’ll say anything again. He doesn’t, he just shakes his head. He’s done for the day.

Terry nods, taking his hand off Brad’s back, but not moving away quite just yet.

Quietly, he sits up on his knees, and sets his Cola down. “Hey dude, look over at me for a quick sec, yeah?”

Brad does so, peeling his eyes open, and is surprised when Terry gingerly places his hands on either side of his head. When he suddenly feels a cool flow come from his fingertips, and the headache begins to slip, Brad moves to try and grip Terry’s wrists to stop him. 

“Terry, no-”

“Brad, it’s okay”, Terry cuts him off, feeling Brad gently tug his wrists down. “It’s just a headache, it won’t take much energy. Besides, I still got a half full can of Cola here, so it’s all good.”

“But-”

“Brad, you deserve this”, Terry said softly, taking his hands off on his own. Brad let’s go of his wrists, but Terry gently takes hold of them. He squeezes them, and meets Brad’s eyes with a smile. “It’s okay, you deserve this.”

Brad nearly shook his head, but Terry gave his hand’s another soft squeeze. He swallowed and decided to just let it be, he squeezed Terry’s hands back, watching as Terry’s smile just warmly grew. How a sweet man like this ended up in this world, much less with a man like him, was beyond Brad.

“Brad!” 

Both of them stood up abruptly, Brad stiffening up as Mad Dog ran up to them, back from who knows where. Terry looked around to see the rest of the group make their way towards them, clearly alarmed. 

“Mad Dog, what is it?”, Brad said as the usually composed man hunched over slightly to catch his breath. Dread pooled to Terry’s stomach, making him feel cold despite the boiling heat. It seemed to harden as Brad tried to get something out of Mad Dog, till it finally froze over at Mad Dog letting the following words spill out of his mouth. 

“The girl… in a warehouse… they have her there.”

Terry felt himself shrink as a dark look came over Brad’s face. 

They left immediately. He needed to find her, the posters screamed at him to find her, at the world to find her.The Joy shifted in Brad’s pocket.

Terry found himself eventually drifting to the back of the group. And eventually standing in front of one of the posters of Buddy on the wall. He stared blankly at the angry, bold letters. 

_ “FIND HER” _

He dug into his pocket and fished out the half crumpled, ripped pieces of paper. He pasted the pieces on the wall, on top of the poster, creating a sort of cracked look on the paper. Slivers of the original print showing through, but just enough so that someone wouldn't be able to read it. 

He slumped back on the cliff wall, taking in a shaky breath as he buried his face in his hands.

What a world, what a world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N- Sorry for the long wait, tried to get this up sooner! Hope you enjoy it!


	5. Rational

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentions of blood. Very little, but just in case.

He blinked, unbelieving and sluggish at first, the strain of the harsh sunlight and the lack of sleep, made everything that passed his eye seem near illusion. Brad had insisted they make haste and to waste no time in making their way to the girl, meaning a very long, very much sleepless trek to the fabled warehouse. 

He didn’t let himself ponder why Brad wanted to find her, he didn’t need to. He trusted that Brad wouldn't do anything… so depraved, he didn’t seem like the type. And he wouldn’t do anything irrational either.

Terry let himself stutter out a tired sigh at that, this days-long walk was fairly irrational, and obsessive, and he wasn’t kidding anyone.

Though he did have to say that it did yield fruit as he let himself blink with a stupefied expression overcoming him as the warehouse came into view. He never thought a place that could conjure such a sickening feeling in his stomach, could also bloom a sense of grateful relief within him.

Though he was still conscious enough not to let his relief show in his face, aware that Brad was marching ahead right next to him, despite being tired as all hell, clearly desperate and in alarm at the idea of harm coming to the girl. Terry vaguely wondered what she was to Brad.

They kept walking, the clanging of bats on a metal door was the sound that greeted them as they approached the warehouse. Terry swallowed thickly as he heard some of the men demand to be let in to see the girl. Luckily for them, the doors were sealed shut, keeping the men out, but also keeping them out too. 

He turned to take a quick look over at Brad, unsurprised to see nothing, but the usual stoniness he maintained on his face. But looking down at his shaking fists it was clear he was anything but calm.

Terry let out a tense huff of air as the group quickly dispersed and began to look around for another entry point. They remained quiet, not unterring a single thing as they did so, it felt wrong to do so in a place like this, where there was a little girl somewhere in this makeshift factory being kept for…

He felt sick again at the mere thought of it.

Terry placed his hand on a cliff wall to ground himself, he sincerely hoped this could just be the end of this journey. Not that he wanted the girl to really be here in this place, but he just hoped they could stop it now. 

He hoped that maybe after this, all of them could just settle down somewhere, lay low, and live out a peaceful life if they could, they were amidst a war after all. After all, he’d grown rather fond of these people, Brad especially, and he couldn’t imagine not living a life without them anymore.

But that also left the lingering doubt, that if this was the end, did Brad need them around anymore? Did he ever really need them for companionship? For anything beyond defeating some tougher enemies?

He leaned a bit more heavily against the wall.

Eventually, after the thoughts in his head settled, he picked up his head and continued his search for an entry point, albeit with a stutter of hesitance. Hesitance that was followed by guilt. This was Brad’s journey after all and who was he to prolong him from reaching the end? And all for what, because he was lonely?

The thought made him stumble on a rock, seeing as he was too caught up in his insecurities to notice it. Pathetic, Terry remarked as he awkwardly caught himself, rolling his eyes in annoyance at his own clumsiness, only to then spot something out of the corner of his eye. 

“....Hey, Olan?” The marksman looked over at Terry, seeing the other man looking up at something. Olan tipped his head to the side good-naturedly.

“Yeah?”

“There’s something up on that factory wall up there”, Terry craned his neck for emphasis, before turning to shoot Olan a smile. “Think you could lend me your sharp eyes over here, dude? Mine are a bit unreliable at the moment.”

The other man smiled as he nodded, walking over to Terry and bumping up the brim of his hat to barely reveal his well hidden eyes. 

He let out a low whistle. “That’s an opening for sure, practically the size of a crater.”

Terry squinted his eyes to try and fail to take a look for himself. “Is there a way we can get to it-”

“If we could do an olympics-worthy jump off the cliff top, maybe.” Both Terry and Olan jumped at Brad having appeared next to them. Brad let out a huff that vaguely resembled a chuckle. “It’s unlikely any of us can do one of those though.”

Terry cracked a weak smile. “You sure? You know I did a lot of gymnastics and aerobics back in the day.” He let out a small laugh which was smothered out nervously as he looked at the gap between the cliff and the second floor of the warehouse. “Heh... but even that might be too much for the Hintster.”

Olan let out an open chuckle, and Brad, though not laughing himself, felt his lip upturn just a bit into a smile. Terry himself straightened out a bit at the mood lift, breathing just a little bit easier, though it only lasted momentarily as Brad began to pull off a strap on his back.

You see, they’d found a little red bike at some point of their journey, in a large grassy field filled with goddamn snakes that nearly gave everyone a heart-attack when they first saw them. Well, except Brad, Mad-dog, and Beastborn. Brad, well, nothing scared him, which was very comforting to Terry, given his unstable levels of anxiety. Mad-dog just kinda rolled with it, albeit with brutality and stoniness, nothing out of the ordinary. And Beastborn bit the snake…no one really said much about it, other than Rooster letting out a disgusted yelp the first time it happened.

But besides the snake problem, there’d also been the issue of an old man and a Joy-mutant in the way, fairly a more concerning issue than the snakes, but the snakes were just everywhere. Either way, they had been able to get the child’s bike, and despite it’s miniature size, that of course being because it was a child’s bike, they had been able to travel just a bit faster on it. 

‘Course they often had to trade it off between them, the bike only being able to carry so many grown men at a time, and it would’ve been uncomfortable to ride on it all at once, irrational even. But again, it seemed that Brad was on an irrational streak today as he instructed everyone to clamor onto the little red cycle, the said bike teetering while atop a cliff. 

That was until they were all balancing on the bike, Brad on the seat, stoic as always, and patiently waiting for the bike to steady as the men tried to settle. Terry clung to whoever he was closest to at the moment, as he was unfortunately settled at the top of the dog pile. A very unsteady, very shakily dog-pile of people on a cliff, about to jump onto another.

Terry swallowed thickly as he felt the bike begin to move, taking a look around meeting the similarly nervous faces of the others, and then there was Brad who was seemingly unfazed as the bike began to pick up speed. It wasn’t long before the bike leapt off the cliff, and seconds after landed with a harsh stutter on the second floor of the factory. The crash landing had ended up throwing several of them off the bike, Terry being at the top unfortunately having the farthest fall.

He hit the metal ground face down, hearing the distinct crack of his nose at the impact and pain soon made it’s sharp presence. He let out a miserable whimper, his nose had just healed from the last fight for god sakes. 

He picked his head off the ground, looking around to see some of the others recovering from the fall, and unsurprisingly, Brad already on his feet and slinging the bike back on. He dropped his head back on the ground for a second with a groan. As much as he wanted to be of assistance to Brad, he was just plain exhausted and now had a broken nose, he needed a moment.

But suddenly the exhaustion went away as he saw Brad kneel down in front of him, hand extended to help him up. He felt a goofy smile reach his face as he took the helping hand and was hoisted up wordlessly. He felt giddy, even when Brad was dealing with all this crap the world gave him, he still gave him a second glance.

Though it didn’t last for very long as Brad soon turned away to head into the warehouse, wordlessly giving the order to follow him inside. Terry, like a lost puppy followed right after him, because even if he was tired, and blood had begun to trickle down his broken nose, he wasn’t going to let his best friend go in alone. 

It wasn’t long before they had encountered trouble and the three owners of the “men’s hair club” factory took offence, and insulted Brad’s lack of hair. Terry, despite having some choice words to fire back at the punks, kept his mouth shut, not wanting to cause any further trouble for Brad. In the end they were denied entry, and most of their party was understandably annoyed, what with exhaustion weighing them from days of walking non-stop in the hot dessert.

Terry curiously glanced over at Brad, worried about his reaction. And to the naked eye, Brad didn’t seem at all phased. 

But Terry knew better, his hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and his brow furrowed further, his eyes no more than dark slits. Terry felt his face pale. He was pissed. 

A fight soon broke out, and a nasty one too. Diesel fire bombs were thrown at the men from all directions, punches thrown, dodged, received, weapons and bullets hitting and missing their targets. 

Terry ran from person to person, providing healing items and hints, on the occasion taunting the tri-fuckta of hair that was their enemy, and just overall trying to keep his only injury of the day down to a broken and bloody nose. In the midst of healing Nern’s broken arm, and listening to him bore the enemy to death, he caught sight of Brad furiously firing fireball after fireball, a dark and determined scowl set on his face.

He let himself stare in awe for a couple of seconds before he witnessed Brad receive a blinding blow to the head, knocking him off his feet. Terry felt his breath catch as he launched himself off from with Nern and sprinted his way to Brad. 

“Brad!” He slid into a kneeling position beside him, worriedly setting him up in a sitting position. “Brad, dude, you okay?”

Brad looked up at him, revealing a quickly bruising welt on his head, blood softly oozing out of a cut centered in the middle. Terry yelped, reaching into their shared bag of supplies, pulling out a bottle of soup. 

He thought about handing it into Brad’s shaky hands, but after looking at him over again, thought against it, shook his head and put it back in the sack. It wouldn’t be enough for a concussion, so he quickly switched over to place his hands on either side of Brad’s head. 

“Terry, no”, Brad weakly, and with a blurry mind, tried to pull the hands off of his head. Terry didn’t relent and just furrowed his brow, concentrating fully on the head injury. 

“Terry”, Brad tried again. “Leave it alone, the soup will be enough.”

“No it won’t, Brad”, he didn’t look at him directly, keeping his eyes straight ahead. Soon a cooling sensation reached Brad’s temple where Terry’s fingertips lay. “You got a concussion dude, the soup ain’t gonna help with that no matter how much healing shit it has.”

Brad was aware of that, but he was also aware that Terry must’ve been already exhausted enough and not wanting to bother him further with healing him on his own, he didn’t want to see Terry collapse again. He didn’t want to burden him, he rationalized, all he ever did was burden, hurt, or kill those he lov- cares for.

But trying to tug off the hands again, Terry just looked down at him and gave him a tired and pleading look, Brad felt a foreign and un-foreign sense of guilt fill him at that look, and he relented with a sigh, letting go of the hands. Terry gave him a soft, but bright smile, and again something bloomed inside Brad’s chest, but this time it was warm. 

As he came to, he noticed the dark trickle of blood coming out of Terry’s nose. 

“Did that just happen? I didn’t see you get hit”, he gestured at his general mouth and nose area. 

Terry jumped at the sudden question, rubbing the back of his neck as he felt embarrassment flood him. 

“No, I- This didn’t-” Terry blinked as he realized Brad kept an eye out for him in battles, and felt his face flare hot. “I-”

He was interrupted as Brad rushed at him, wrapping his arms around him and pushing out of the way of a sudden attack. Brad grunted, scowling as he saw their opponents still fairing well enough to fight, but it lifted as he saw the opening in the wall. 

He turned to Terry, gripping his shoulders, gentle enough not to hurt him but firm enough to let him know he needed his attention. Terry however would’ve given him his attention regardless.

He took a deep breath, “Terry, listen to me, we’re gonna keep them distracted, but I need you to make your way past everything and make it to the room. I need you to go get my dau- the girl, out of there. Okay?”

Terry said nothing, afraid his voice would betray him, nodding to keep the lump in his throat from choking him. Brad was trusting him with this, the end of their journey. No, he reminded himself, Brad’s journey. 

Brad nodded back curtly and rushed back into battle, leaving Terry standing there for a moment in a feeling he could only describe as lost, before he willed himself to move his legs. Before long he was sprinting weaving past the attacks hailing from both sides, like a soldier amidst a battlefield of flying bullets, except he didn’t feel like a soldier, he felt like a coward.

A coward who was afraid of what would happen to him once this was all over.

Soon enough he slipped through, looking back at the chaos and catching Brad’s eyes watching him, as if to make sure he made it there safely. At least that’s what Terry wanted to believe. He took a second before slinking in through the hole in the wall, stealing himself for whatever, or moreso, whomever he’d come across. 

He felt a horrible, sinking feeling in his gut as he’d heard the sharp and watery sound of weeping. Soon enough with another step in, he saw a person tied up and with no shirt or cloth covering their upper body. He covered his eyes quickly with one arm and with the other he gripped his shirt over where his heart was, trying to stave off an anxiety attack. He wasn’t cut out for this, he didn’t know how to deal with this, and yet he stepped in closer to the room. 

“H-Hello?”, he uttered out, trying to keep himself from shaking too badly. 

“Please…” Terry suddenly felt as if a rug had been pulled from under him as he heard the voice of a man fill in the place of what should’ve been a little girl. He lifted his arm away from his eyes cautiously in case he’d just misheard, but then something happened that dashed that possibility through.

The head of the captive person turned desperately towards him, to reveal a man with poorly applied makeup and a dark mustache plain and clear on his face. 

“Please”, the man begged. “Get me out of here, let me go...”

Terry blinked, thinking his eyes were deceiving him, that maybe this was just a really twisted hallucination his tired mind had made up for him. But it seems humanity had really rationalized, and gone as far as to do something as fucked up as this, and he wasn’t kidding anyone.


	6. Wasted time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentions of blood, descriptions of violence and implications of assault.

The fight was starting to move in their favor, Brad subconsciously remarked to himself as he launched another fire attack, igniting the gasoline currently in the three men’s hair. He felt a distorted sense of satisfaction from watching as the captors of his daughter, Buddy, writhe from the heat of the flames licking at them. He felt no pity for these men, them and their kind were a horrid commodity here in Olathe, and he’d bet the same on the rest of the men that remained on earth. 

They had stolen and harmed the one good thing that had presented itself in his life, his second chance at doing things right, his daughter. The one thing he cared about more than anything else in the world. Then they had the gall to parade her around, offering her up, as if she was some form of cattle! 

As if her life mattered nothing more to them, and you know what, it didn’t matter to them. They just wanted to use her and harm her and...

A feeling of pins and needles permeated Brad’s mind as awful images and feelings began to conjure up, memories of that couch and that TV, that house… 

He felt the sick feeling of withdrawal creeping up on him as his already pre-existing headache throbbed, pain flaring as the remainder of his concussion made its presence known. But while the pain flared warm, a soothing cool matched up to meet it, subduing it.

He wondered where Terry was. 

It had been a solid few minutes since he’d last seen Terry disappear into the next room, and he hadn’t heard anything from him since. Was there someone else in there, was he attacked? Did they kill him?

Brad felt something seize at his chest as he pondered the dark scenario of someone ambushing Terry, though was interrupted as the three men they were fighting, collapsed in front of them, begging for them to cease firing. The men gasped and gulped as if they hadn’t been breathing all throughout the fight.

His party were likewise, taking in deep breaths of air, weapons and arms poised and ready to keep fighting if their opponents stood back up. 

“Please, just stop. No more..”, one of the men gasped, holding his side as he stretched out on the ground, exhausted. “Please, we don’t need to fight. You can just go in.”

“Right ahead!”, another one of them exclaimed with desperation. “No one will stop you, just take your goods and be on your way. We’re reasonable men, no need to kill. Everyone can have a turn with her, the girls’ for everyone.”

The last one stayed quiet, but just nodded tiredly as he closed his eyes, chest heaving. 

The party stayed dead silent, turning over to look at their leader, Brad, trying to gauge a reaction. They weren’t able to read him as well as Terry could and unfortunately he wasn't here at the moment, something all of them noted at one point in the battle as they carried the unhealed signs of injury from battle. 

But with one look at Brad’s stony face, they might as well not have bothered trying. The silence stretched over the men for a long minute, before they saw something in Brad’s posture twitch.

He marched forward to stand in front of the men on the ground, gazing downward at them, catching the eyes of all three of them. He opened his mouth to say something, before his eyes flickered over to a figure in white standing right behind the men. She looked straight at him, frowning at him.

Disappointed with him.

Brad dropped his eyes once more to the men, a sheen of an indistinguishable emotion in them as he wordlessly summoned another fireball, and aimed, and not a split second later, fired. Flames spread over the men, coating them as if to conceal the bodies, consume them and erase their existence, but their screams signified that there was someone under those raging flames. He watched them silently as their flailing and bellows of pain and anguish died down, acutely aware that his party was spectating him warily, but too apathetic to care.

Brad hummed as the fire diminished, ash left behind on the ground. He turned his head in the direction of the opening on the wall, and it seemed to snap him out of whatever daze he’d been in. 

“Everyone, get your weapons out, and be ready”, Brad said as he began to form another fireball in his hands. But taking a couple of steps forward, he turned to face the men in his party, the men that had followed him through hell and back, the men who’d fought by his side, whom despite all this, he gave a dark look to them as the embers in his hands flared.

“No harm is to come to the girl, do you understand?”

They all looked at each other wordlessly, a glimmer of doubt, fear, passing through them. Wisely, they nodded, appeasing Brad just enough to turn from them and once again lead the way. Brad paused a couple steps away from the hole in the wall, turning around to gesture at Beastborn, giving him the silent order to scout the area.

Beasborn grunted in compliance, getting down on all fours and crouching low, sniffing around to look for unknown scents. He was able to pick up Terry’s scent, the beastly man giving a happy chirp at the identification, he picked up the three haired men’s scent, scrunching his nose at the acute smell of hairspray, but then he picked up something else. Something masculine, and unknown.

He let out a low feral growl, tensing and crouching backwards. He stood back up turning to face Brad as he took out his whip, shaking his head.

“Man. Not T-ary”, Beastborn rasped out. 

Brad felt his heart sink, and a sick feeling overcome him, his hands shook where the fireball was resting. He took brisk steps over to the very edge of the turn into the next room, taking deep, but quiet breaths, subconsciously trying to pick up any sounds in the next room.

“...hey man, c’mon calm down”, he heard the distinct soft voice of Terry say, feeling his heart drop further at the anxiousness coating his words. Was he alright? Was someone threatening him? Was he hurt?

He strained to hear the other voice respond, unable to, as it seemed they were farther inside the room. But it was a deep voice. That of a man.

Rage coiled in the pit of his stomach, as Brad had reached his limit and tensed his arms, the fireball violently sparking. How dare they... How dare they go near Buddy.

He turned the corner swiftly, charging in, teeth clenched as he flexed his fingers, ready to shoot the unknown man dead and burn him where he stands. He heard his party charging right behind him, the clangs of weapons being pulled out and ready to strike, ready to fight their way out of this room if need be.

But just as they entered, they skidded to a stop, spotting a very much well and alive Terry, if just extremely shaky and surprised at their sudden entrance. Brad locked eyes with Terry giving him a quick one over, before being satisfied at the lack of injury except for the broken nose. He then craned his head to look behind Terry, only to see a man, tied up and covered in makeup.

Brad felt the tight ball in his chest decompress as he quickly realized that Buddy wasn’t ever in captivity in this disgusting hellhole, and he breathed a soft but grateful sigh of relief. But his gaze hardened again as he zeroed in on the man they’d wasted their time, just to find.

Although the man posed no threat, that still didn’t stop Brad from aiming the fireball at him, not even flinching at the frightened, choked sound the other man let out. Terry, however, was another case as he yelped at Brad’s sudden turn, and quickly but carefully stood in the way between the fireball and the restrained man. 

“BRAD! Dude, wait! Don’t shoot him with the fireball, man!” Terry’s chest shook as if he were trying to catch his breath, Brad worried he might just fall over at the rate he was shaking. He locked eyes with Terry again. “C’mon he’s not doing anything.”

By now the other man had started to sob, an ugly noise to Brad, as men like these deserved no sympathy, they just thought they could just cry and beg for forgiveness, with sweetly fake promises to change, and then they could get away with anything. That their punisher would take sympathy on them, but where was sympathy for him when he cried. When he begged his father to stop hurting them. What love was there, what compassion behind those shades, within those cold, beady eyes? 

Why should they have mercy when he had none?

Besides, they were all the same. All depraved. They all just wanted to hurt Buddy, he just knew it. All they ever did was take the things he loves, hurt them, and hurt him. And all of them are just the same. This man before him is no different, and he won’t let him run free to prove him right.

“Step aside, Terry.”

Brad heard a sharp hitch in the man’s sobbing from behind Terry, hysteria clouding in from his words. But then he watched in silent bewilderment as Terry’s face twist with a painful emotion, his bleeding heart showing on his sleeves as he tilted his head just slightly to look back at the crying man. 

“C’mon man, don’t cry. Don’t cry. Nothing’s gonna happen to you, I promise. We’ll just set ya free and-”

“No.”

Terry looked back at him with shock plain on his face, something pained and hurt in his eyes. He started shaking his head softly at first, but much more frantically as he saw Brad try to aim around him. 

“Brad, wait-”

“We can’t afford to let him get away.”

“Brad, please-”

“He’s just like everyone else, he’s not worth letting live.”

“Brad, don’t-!”

“My name is Fardy Hernandez!”, the tied man, now known as Fardy cried out, as soon as he saw Terry’s control on the conversation slip. “My name is Fardy Hernandez! My brothers are Lardy, Shardy, Georgy, and Tardy Hernandez!” 

Brad looked over at him impassionately, while Terry swallowed thickly as he felt a nervous smile reach his face.

“See! We can’t kill him, he’s a Hernandez brother”, Terry straightened up a bit, confidence faked and mustered. “And I don’t know about you, but if there’s one thing I know from knowledge gathered from my travels, it’s that the Hernandez brothers are BIG people out here in olathe. They help a lot of people out here, they’re suppliers, practically warlords! If we kill one of them, Brad, we’re just gonna have more problems on our hands trying to find the girl!”

“...”

“Big hint right there, Dude”, Terry tacked on after a moment of silence, hoping to get through to his friend. Unfortunately, Brad didn’t look as convinced as Terry wanted him to be, but luckily Fardy took up the nerve to bud into the conversation again, his tears ceasing for the moment. 

“You’re trying to find the girl?”, he asked, hope rising in his wary voice. While Terry nodded, Brad was about to dispute, not up to letting such a pitiful man in on his crusade, his personal mission. But he was cut off anyway. “I have tools! On my truck! I can fix the bridge it’s next to, the one the girl crossed over on! I can get you there, I'll even lend you my truck keys so you can travel faster! Just please, don’t kill me, take me with you! Get me out of here, I’ll help you!”

Terry looked over at Brad, hopeful that he’d see a much more uplifting expression on his face, only to see something akin to horror. But it only remained there for a split second, before he returned to a neutral expression, and he dropped his arms, fireball diffusing. 

He turned to Terry, nodding as he heaved a heavy sigh, to which a normal person could perceive as exhaustement, to Terry, who’d felt his face pale again for the upteeth time today, it seemed like an angry sigh. He curled a little into himself a little, anxious and scared. He hadn’t meant to make Brad mad.

He quickly distracted himself, by turning to address Fardy, Nern and Rooster moving up to help him untie the trucker. Fardy, as soon as he was untied, threw his arms around Terry, sobbing into the startled man and spilling out “thank you’s” as he did so. Terry gave a weak smile, as he assured him there was nothing to thank him for, as Brad watched the scene with a tense and impatient demeanor.

Soon after they were walking out of the warehouse, night began to fall, but Brad insisted on continuing their brutal march back to the bridge that Terry and him had seen at the beginning of their journey. Terry occupied himself with consoling the still teary-eyed Fardy, and realizing at some point the poor guy wasn’t gonna stop crying much, and he wouldn’t blame him for being so upset, after the hell he went through. 

He noticed some of the other party members whispering to themselves, tired and weary, their postures slumping, becoming more and more exhausted as they continued to walk. Terry felt himself slump as well, he knew there was a sliver of doubt spreading in the group everytime Brad did something like this, but he didn’t- couldn’t- will not believe that Brad wasn’t doing all this without good reason.

But even then he felt his breath catch when Brad had called him over to walk ahead a bit, away from the group, under the guise that he needed Terry’s second opinion on if they were going in the right direction, being that he’s been the one who's been with Brad the longest and seen the bridge. 

And atop a lone hill, he did confirm they were heading back in the right direccion, but he grew concerned when Brad didn’t quite respond back.

“Brad?”, he called out hesitantly, seeing Brad’s arms shake. “Brad, is something wrong?”

“We were going in the wrong direction…”

“What-”

“We were going in the wrong direction this whole time!”, Brad ground out, frustition boiling over as he began pacing. “We’ve wasted so much time.” Terry watched him, hugging his legs close to his chest, trying to stave off his growing anxiety. “She could be anywhere right now and god knows what’s happened by now!”

“Dude, I get that you’re frustrated, but you need to be sensible here, Brad”, Terry said as he watched Brad pace, trying to ignore the awful shaking in his hands. “Look I know this means a lot to you, and-”

“No, Terry, you really don’t!”, Brad interrupted, missing the flinch Terry gave at the gruff and angry bark at his voice. “You don’t know how much this means to me, this whole journey, every obstacle, all of this. You don’t get what it means!”

“Okay! Okay!”, Terry exclaimed, wanting to diffuse the situation because he couldn’t stand Brad screaming at him, especially with the exhaustion making his head hurt and his nose still hurting, despite no longer bleeding. He took a calming breath as he tried to calm the rising anxiety threatening to choke him. “So I don’t know, fine! But we can’t keep going on like this Brad, the party needs rest. You need rest.”

“We can’t wait any more time, the more days we spend here, the more days that she has on being further and further away from here, and the more likely chance we’ll lose her”, Brad turned and gave Terry a determined glare, a dangerous and familiar sheen passing through Brad’s eyes. “And I'm not losing her.”

But as Brad took a step he suddenly collapsed on his knees, clutching his head, and groaning as if in pain. Terry let out a shocked cry, before launching himself off the ground, to Brad’s side once more. Squelching down his anxiety as worry for his friend took its place. 

“Brad!” The said man winced at the volume of his voice, to which Terry took as note to speak softer. “You okay?”

Brad shook his head softly, still holding his head. 

“Withdrawls…”

Terry’s breath stuttered for a beat, before he swallowed, nodding slowly. He sat Brad up on a rock, keeping a hand on Brad’s shoulder to keep him from standing up. They sat there for a moment in silence as Brad tried to gather his bearings with the horrible pounding in his head, Terry rubbing small circles on Brad’s shoulder, where his hand lay. 

Eventually Terry spoke up, in an impossibly softer tone than before. “Brad, we need to stop. It won’t be for long. Just a few hours. We can keep going after that. But we need to rest, we can’t look for her well if we’re all exhausted-” 

“We can’t. I can’t. I need to find her.” Something akin to anger swelled in Terry, his breath hitched, and then blew away with a single deep exhale. 

There was no use in being angry, he was just exhausted. He took his hand off Brad’s shoulder in an attempt at spite though, a tired attempt. 

He clasped his hands, hopping his leg in subdued agitation. “You’re exhausted, and aren’t thinking straight. You need rest, man.”

Brad staggered to his feet, walking forward, unstable and stubborn. “No, I don’t. She- she’s out there, I need to find her.”

Terry watched Brad descend the hill, still perched on his seat on the rock, unmoving as he let the breeze of the cool night wind pass him by. A sluggish flare of pain again pulsed on his face, and the heavy weight of his sleepless body implored him to just remain seated, and let the world crumble around him. Because it was crumbling. 

He lifts a hand to his nose gingerly feeling the fracture and unsettling the dry blood. Terry slumps for a moment in his seat as he wonders, more than ever, who it was they were even looking for and if it was all worth it anymore.


	7. Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Depressive thoughts and refrences to drug use.

Terry let out a quiet sniffle as he blinked sluggishly at the cold floor of Fardy’s truck, letting his cheek press against the chilled metal and felt the tremor of every bump on the desert-like terrain outside as the vehicle moved. He let his eyes shift up, unwilling to move his head to do so, and took in the sight of the party members, all in a deep sleep as they leaned against the walls of the old, decrepit truck. 

They’d been walking all night long, and it wasn’t until morning that they’d made it to the old bridge. Even then there was still the matter of fixing it, and such, so that was even more time that none of them got to go to sleep. Terry had counted up to 3 Olathe days where they got little to no sleep, the conversion for that would be…

...well, Olathe days were always longer. 

Besides, he was resting now, wasn’t he? What did it matter anymore how much time had passed? 

It wouldn’t have mattered at all to him, except for the fact that he’d always had a considerable amount of trouble falling asleep. He felt tears prick at his eyes, as his face scrunched up and his chest shook with a frustrated sob. 

He’d been up the entire truck ride, and despite not being able to see outside the vehicle, he knew it would be day soon. And that meant more walking, and that meant more using energy to shittly defend himself, fight (again shittily), or heal someone (once again shittily), but his weak ass would undoubtedly be using a lot of his already limited energy. 

He dug his palm into his eye as his lip quivered, ashamed as he felt a tear pass through and slip from his cheek to the floor. 

God, he just wanted to go to sleep. 

He vaguely thought back to the times in which he’d stay over at the hospital overnight, which wasn’t a particularly rare occurrence, and he’d think back to the times the doctors gave him some benadryl to make it easier for him to go to sleep during the hard nights. Nights where he felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he couldn’t sleep or he’d never wake back up again. 

But was there ever really anything for him to wake up to?

Terry felt a half sob works it’s way up his throat, stopping halfway and just leaving him with a throbbing pain, as if to personify his thoughts, and let him know, “Hey, you’re hurting, man!”

Not like he could bring himself to care, not right now at least. God, he’s tired.

Terry rolled himself on his back, aware that it might not be the best idea, as it just made it harder for him to breath, but he really felt the need to rub his face. Not that it’d help much to get rid of the heavy feeling in his heart, but it’d feel like at least he was trying. Like scraping off an invisible layer on him.

He laid there for a minute before he decided to lift his hands off his face, and turn his head towards where Brad was sleeping in the corner, spaced out from the others, head turned away to face the wall. Terry hadn’t spoken a word to him at all on their long trek to the Bridge, nor while they were fixing it. Even less in the truck, they’d all fallen asleep rather quickly, though…

He’d noticed a slight hesitance in Brad when going to sleep, and though it wasn’t much, feeling Brad take quick glances over to him caused him to pay close attention to it. He had a hunch that it may or may not have had something to do with their… disagreement the day or so before. He may have wanted to apologize.

But Terry didn’t dare approach him.

Though an apology would have been nice, sweet even, and something he would’ve deeply appreciated, he couldn't shake that deep seated fear he had for Brad in that moment. The glare seemed to haunt every corner of his mind, making him wonder, if he ever did go to sleep, would he dream about it? Would he have nightmares about it?

The hours spent alone with his thoughts gave rise to the opportunity for his mind to plague him with that question and play the scene over and over again in his head. The gleam in Brad’s eyes, that sheen that passed over them for a split second, but so vividly that you could be sure it was no light tricks or illusion at all. 

His eyes, the color of joy. 

Bright blue, he’d seen it, it flashed so quickly through, but no one, especially not Terry could miss how Brad’s deep, sad, dark brown eyes, flashed a vibrant, bright, cold blue. Terry suddenly felt a rush of despaired hysteria choke him as his heart sped up dramatically, making him feel small and cold. 

Brad had only ever looked at someone like that when he wanted to kill them. His best friend had wanted to kill him! 

Terry rolled to his side in a fetal position, clutching either side of his head, curling in on himself, as he tried to keep his broken breathing even, shaking badly. He minutely shook his head at his thoughts. 

No. No, that can’t be it. Brad wouldn’t do that, right? He wouldn’t kill him, he’s his friend. He trusts Brad. He’s… He’s his best friend. His only friend. And…

Terry blows a gust of air out of his mouth, raking his hands through his hair. No, Brad is no longer his only friend. The whole group was like a comradery now, they could also be his friends. But with all this time he’s spent, staying so close to Brad’s side, depending on him heavily for company, he wondered if he had just crippled himself in his ability to drift from friend to friend. 

That was if they even were friends. 

He knows he’s annoying, he knows people pity him, like he really was a cripple. Which Terry will give them the benefit of the doubt, but he wasn’t that much. Not enough to matter, only it did matter now, now that he constantly had to fight for his life, even more than when he was a kid. Because at least back then most of his battles were on a hospital bed, now… now he has to get up and fight people. And kill them.

He’d never really gotten used to that part of his new life. He’d always just hidden away in his little shack in his village, alone, depressed, and losing touch with reality, but comfortable with the avoidance of resorting to murder for his survival. But then he had to ask himself again, what was there for him to live for, to want to survive to see the next day?

Terry shakily balled his hands up, clutching and tugging at fistfuls of hair. God, he should’ve just flung himself off that cliff years ago, when he had the chance. 

He stopped, his eyes widening, dropping his hand slowly while letting go of his hair, and feeling tears freely slip from his eyes down to the cold metal floor. He doesn’t mean it. 

He can’t mean it. He was just really tired, that’s all. 

He rolls back onto his side, letting his eyes go half-lid, as he takes another look around the truck, seeing some of the party begin to stir. Terry feels like he’s really gonna cry now, he knows morning isn’t too distant though, so he just let’s his eyes shut, to have sleep finally take him last-minute. 

At the very corner of the truck though, Brad sat, quietly, but certainly not sleeping. He turned his head to look at Terry’s direction, though he looked at his friend impassively, he felt himself in turmoil on the inside. He always seemed to hurt the ones he loves and cares about, that is a given. 

He knows he's leading these men straight to their graves, and at one point it would’ve been an afterthought, but he’s grown more comfortable at this stability, this derivative of a friendship. The outbursts this morning, he hopes were just a product of his mood-swings from withdrawals, he really hopes it’s just that. But shame washes over him as he remembers why exactly he has those withdrawals. 

He looks back over to Terry and studies his features for a while, and they land back to his nose. He knows that mad dog had been able to set it back in place yesterday, and Terry had gotten stuff to heal it, even if just to conceal the wounds. But that was the longest he’d seen one of his party memb- the longest he’d seen one of his friends, with an injury. 

Terry had been too exhausted or busy to heal it sooner, so it stayed bloody and broken on his face, enduring pain the entire day. Even if it was just a minor injury it still reminded Brad that he was the cause of that injury on his closest companion. 

And then, if that wasn’t enough, the fact that he’d yelled at him, silently threatened him, then denied him some much needed rest, then made him worry about his withdrawals… he’d seen an insurmountable amount of fear in Terry’s eyes in that moment, and it killed him to see it then, and it killed him to see it now as Terry tossed and turned unable to sleep. 

It rocked Brad to his core as he finally took everything in, and remorse filled him as he buried his face in his hands. He didn’t mean to do that, he’d never wanted to do any of that. But he always hurts the ones he… cares about, and that’s a given. 

But he’d just hoped, naively, that Terry would be the exception to that rule, Buddy too. But that’s why it was naive, because they weren’t safe from him, no one was. That’s why he was sleeping alone in the corner that night, and despite how much it hurt, he deserves it. Everything that has happened and keeps happening to him, he deserves it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter is a lot shorter, but this was more of a midpoint, and it focused more on Terry's thoughts, so it seemed fitting to not dwell on it too much.


	8. Sick

Sick.

Terry had woken up sick. A steadily rising fever pounded his head with the onslaught of a headache, while his throat felt leathery and phlegm covered it like a blanket. He groaned lightly, lifting his head off the truck floor, noting the warmth radiating off the once-cold surface. He winced, placing a hand to his chest as he felt his lungs shake. He needed to cough.

He felt the inklings of dread pool into his heart as he scanned the truck to find some of the others already awake, not many, just Olan, Beastborn, and a lazily blinking Maddog. But it was enough to quickly make him self-conscious. He quickly shot his hand down off his chest, wincing once more as he realized the gesture caught the eyes of the marksman, Olan, who lifted a brow at him. 

“Well good morning to you too?” Terry turned to give him a wary smile, which soon dropped as Olan furrowed his brow further. He gestured to him generally with a shot glass he had in hand, a small amount of potato whiskey in it for the morning drinker. 

“You okay? You look a little frazzled there, Terr.” Terry opened his mouth to try and wave off the concern gently, but instead, a gargled excuse of a word spilled out of his mouth, tumbling down to a wet cough. 

It startled the hell out of Olan, “Oh, shit. Terry, you okay?” 

He sat up stock-straight as Terry weakly hacked out the knot in his throat, trying hard not to wake anyone. The marksman moved up to Terry’s side, Beastborn watching him do so without moving from his curled position on the floor. 

Olan let his hand hover hesitantly above Terry’s back, unsure if he should sit him up or pat his back, eventually settling for rubbing small circles in wary comfort. Terry would’ve thanked him if he could, but all he could do was try to clear his lungs, not that Olan really minded if he wasn’t given a “thank you” right now. 

He eventually quieted, but Olan could still make out the subtle tremble in the other’s chest, and no doubt, from how close he was to him, could he hear Terry’s labored and gargled breathing 

Olan quickly looked around the truck, seeking anything that would remotely help the hintster and the marksman, before his eyes landed on the dazing Maddog. His sights then darted to Beastborn as an idea formulated. 

“Psst, Beastborn!, “ Olan hissed, making Beastborn’s uninterested gaze go up again at Olan. He gestured over to Maddog. “Wake him up, I need his mysterious medical expertise here with Terry.”

Beastborn took a couple of seconds to mull over Olan’s request, before looking over to Terry, whose chest was still silently wracking. Sympathy made Beastborn let out a low groan, before pulling himself up on all fours, and giving a swift kick to Maddog’s side.

The barbarian awoke immediately and gave the wildman a silent, empty-eyed glare, with Beastborn giving him a matching scowl back before gesturing to Terry and Olan, both of whom stopped what they were doing as soon as Beastborn kicked Maddog.

Olan waved Maddog over to their side of the truck, scooching over to give him access to Terry. Maddog lifted a brow at both Olan and Terry, unsure what they needed his assistance for until Terry’s chest heaved again and he gave a slightly muffled cough. 

“I think he caught a cold, but shit, I don’t know what to do,” Olan whispered out, giving enough space for Maddog to take a better look at Terry, but sticking close to watch the silent man work. Beastborn watched them silently from the other side of the truck. 

Terry felt Maddog lay his hand on his chest, gesturing for him to take deep breaths. As soon as he tried to take one though, he felt the tremble of the phlegm in his lungs, and he shook his head miserably. Maddog sighed.

“... Just breath in as deep as you can without hurting yourself,” he said catching the three off guard for a moment before Terry calmed enough to take the requested breaths. He studied Maddog’s face quietly as he did so, trying to discern anything from the stoic man’s expression. But he rivaled Brad in stoniness, so he soon gave up. 

Maddog wordlessly hummed, looking pensive for a moment as he looked over to a sleeping Brad. Terry knew exactly what Maddog was thinking, and he shook his head vigorously, silently begging him to not wake the other up. 

He’s already in a rough spot with Brad since yesterday, he couldn’t feasibly handle anything worse at the moment. Especially with the inconvenience of him being sick. 

The guilt would eat him alive.

Maddog looked reluctant to the silent suggestion but nevertheless relented before digging through their bag with a low grumble. It’s easy to diagnose injuries, Maddog was an expert at that, those of both live and dead people, but the live ones always made it hard to treat them. 

He pulled out a bottle of pure whiskey, a rare find in Olathe, and plucked the shot glass from Olan’s hand, pouring a small amount into the cup. Terry watched him wearily as he did so, he had an idea of where this was going. 

“Drink.” With that, he handed him the shot of whiskey. Terry let out a feeble whine as he took the cup in his hand, hesitating to drink it. He knew it wasn’t much, it would burn his throat enough to ease the soreness, and possibly clear his sinuses. 

Hell! The supernatural properties in their items, including the whiskey, alone might be able to cure him instantly. But they are precious resources and he didn’t want them to be wasted on him and his accidental cold, not only that, it was really damn hard to swallow at the moment.

Even worse though was that, he was never a big drinker, he only drank potato liquor since the Flash, and it wasn’t too strong. Nowhere near as strong as the whiskey. 

Maddog tilted his head slightly in confusion as he watched Terry, the faintest bit of annoyance starting to eat at him. He didn’t say anything though, anticipating an explanation, which Terry provided when he took a sip of the whiskey and broke into a series of strong coughs. 

It startled the four, plus the rest of the sleeping crowd in the truck, but Terry took the opportunity immediately, now that the silence was broken, to properly clear his throat. But he then heard the groggy sleep-filled voice he was dreading to hear.

“What’s going on here?”

Terry, without thinking, threw the drink back as quickly as he could to the surprise of everyone in the truck, including the now fully-awake Brad. He stared at Terry in shock.

“Terry, what--”

He interrupted Brad as he went into another series of coughing fits, this time from the whiskey alone, feeling instant relief as the magic in the drink chipped hastily away at his fever and sore throat. He’d feel better in no time. 

As soon as he could stop gagging from the sting of the alcohol. 

“Ugh! Olan-- dude! How do you even drink this stuff in battle dude?”, Terry asked half-jokingly and half-genuinely. Olan could only give him an honest shrug.

“World-class drinker, my friend.” 

“Why the whiskey?” Terry turned his gaze back to Brad, floundering at his question. He racked his brain for something but came up dry. 

“I- uh…,” It was then that the entire truck went silent, gazes on Terry drifted off quickly as they heard the distinct knock of Fardy on the metal wall separating them, signaling the party that they could open the doors now. The truck had stopped. 

The men began to stand up, and Terry took notice of how Brad’s eyes didn’t leave him, causing Terry to want to look anywhere, but at Brad. His face burned with lingering shame as he looked down at his hand where he still held Olan’s shot glass. The said marksman was at the back lifting the door open, both Beastborn and Maddog both not far behind.

As the men filed out, one by one, Terry quickly handed Olan’s shot glass to him and mouthed out a “thank you” to the three. Beastborn gave a grunt, Olan a hat-tip and smile, Maddog a stoic nod. 

Going back out into the warm Olathe climate sent a shiver up Terry’s back having just dealt with the cold of the truck, the warmth from his fever, the subsiding of that fever, and then stepping out into 90-degree weather again. He reminded himself to focus on the whiskey working its course, relying on that hope that the feeling would go away soon. 

As the last of the men and Brad himself stepped out of the back of the truck, they gave Fardy a few seconds to join their group before the martial artist spoke up. 

“We’re starting to run out of mags and supplies, we need to take advantage of our time outside the truck to collect anything we can,” he said, and Terry felt himself shrink a little at being reminded how low their stash was getting. And that’d he’d used up some of their precious materials by getting sick. He swallowed his guilt thickly. 

As everyone began to split up to try their luck at finding the random bags of abandoned loot on the lone cliffs, Brad watched Terry walk off with his head lowered. He still wouldn’t talk to him since yesterday, and he’d caught the anxiousness in Terry’s voice at his questioning for the whiskey.

He’d scared him off.

...

Maybe it’s for the best.

Terry has always been an odd, and confusing enigma of a person to Brad. He was quite weak and frail, still is, but he’s getting stronger. But even so, he wonders how an awkward and sensitive man like Terry, managed to survive in this hostile Olathe. He wonders how he keeps surviving. 

Brad knows what he’s doing is dangerous and, honestly speaking… although he didn’t mind the company anymore, he wasn’t ever seeking it. Not from Terry or anyone else for that matter. A more base and primal feeling rose in his throat as he refused to acknowledge that there’s a small part of him that still doesn’t quite hold these men, these men who fought, drank, and followed him into hell, to much value.

Whether they lived or died, it didn’t matter much to him. Their lives held little value to Brad.

They didn’t matter as much, and we're certainly not even close, to the level of value Buddy holds. 

The only reason he didn’t send them away was the convenience they brought in fights.

He debated several times with himself over the potential usefulness and…_ dispensability _ of some of the men in his party. 

In those terms, Terry was…

…

The primal and trapped feeling lunges at his throat and clings tight as he does acknowledge a moment that floods shame and rage towards himself. 

His near mistake. 

Having both been hit by a truck was bad enough, seeing his childhood bully, Columbo, was an unwelcome surprise. And the fact that he hadn’t changed and only got bigger, stronger, and more violent, frightened him in an animalistic way.

He’d frozen up, he remembers. He spotted Terry on the ground, knocked out cold. 

And Columbo gave him a choice. Terry or his supplies. 

It should’ve been easy, it was an easy choice. 

But he’d debated it. He hesitated. 

Over what? Some bottles, jerky, and…

Mother-fucking Joy.

He weighed the value of these two… not things, but factors in his life. Terry was, in simple words, weak. _ He is useless to him _ . And Joy, while he’d promised himself and Buddy that’d he’d quit taking it while searching for her, _ and after that, who knows _. 

He thanks a god he doesn’t believe in, that he’d made the right choice that day, out of all the things his own selfishness could have made him choose otherwise, he chose Terry. He managed to reason with himself to hand over his supplies, to save Terry’s life, and part ways. 

What bothers him, however, more than having hesitated, and putting Terry’s life on the line, was moments after Terry had woken up. 

The younger man was visibly shaken and frazzled after being run over, Brad even had the decency to be nervous about him overhearing his moment of silence when Columbo proposed the trade-off. He’d called Brad at one point in his nervus ramblings, “A bad omen.”

But…. then he stayed with him.

Brad isn’t naive or blind, he knows that Terry staying with him was initially due to being some poor, frightened guy, unable to protect himself from even a dog, meeting someone who could provide him with protection. But Terry should have had no idea that he’d saved his life. 

He should have acknowledged the liability that is himself, that he really only increases Terry’s probability of dying by having him stay at his side on this journey. 

And yet Terry rejected logic, and he stayed with him. Loyal and so very, very in danger.

He actively hurts Terry by keeping him with him.

He forces himself to walk away from his spot, facing away from Terry, eyes drifting off to canyon walls and cliffs. He resigns his eyes to lock onto a lone cave in a wall, where he can see the Olathe sun hitting the walls inside the cave. It’s not too deep, so it must have been a dwelling at some point, he reasons. There have to be some forgotten supplies in there. 

His head aches, and he feels something close to dread, but not quite, filling his chest. Brad curls his hands into fists as he walks further, and his steps become heavier and vexed. His brow furrowed in confusion as he soon feels the slight tendrils of something eat at him, and he pauses,

He hadn’t realized he’d walked up to the entrance of the cave, so he turned his head back one more time to see the distance he’d somehow walked. The cave was a good ways-away from the truck, visible, but the distance was there. He felt his body slump in an attempt to rouse his body in calmness, and his breath even out in a foux and imposed pace. He gives himself a moment before he makes himself look around. 

It isn’t long before Brad spots the familiar and loud, yellow tank-top, and moppy hair in the distance that he’d become so familiar with. Near instantly he feels reassured, like he could already imagine and hear Terry’s comforting words of encouragement, not unlike the cheers he’d deliver in fights. 

_ You’re actively hurting him by keeping him with you. _

But he tore himself away from the sight, feeling his stomach plummet slightly. This was for the best. This was for the best. 

_ You’re so selfish. _

He steps in.

_ You’re weak. _

He closes his eyes.

_ You’re hurting him. _

He takes a deep breath. 

_ You’re getting attached. _

He holds it. 

_ Everyone you love, _

“What do you think you’re doing?” Lisa greets him.

_you hurt._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, hit a major writer's block.


	9. An Angel In White Haunts You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for: Implications of abuse, suicide, and depressive thoughts.

White. 

Brad had opened his eyes to be greeted by a pristine white dress, and dark hair. A rope around her neck. The hallucination hangs there.

“Again, what do you think you’re doing?,” it repeats, looking over at Brad. He pointedly ignores her,  _ it _ , aware that this it’s another Joy withdrawal hallucination. They’ve been happening so frequently now.

Her. Its eyes don’t leave him alone. 

He swallows his guilt thickly. 

“Do you love her more than me?” Betrayal and hurt coat the question, and it makes him sick how quickly he turns to it to almost respond. He doesn’t voice a response, aware she’s not there, but nonetheless, he finds it there on his tongue. He’s not sure what it says about him. 

He turns back to look for any abandoned loot on the floor, becoming agitated as he hears the straining of a rope. God no, he’s losing himself in this again. 

“Why do you love her more than me?” Her voice comes from right next to him and he can’t stop himself from turning to look at his sister. She stares up at him, and he can see the hurt on her face.

“I- I don’t-”, he tries feebly to say something, dreading the words that leave him. But Lisa stops him before he can say anything else. 

“You liar, you do,” she says venomously, glaring at him. He looks at the ground, unable to face her. She scoffs at him. “You love her more than me, you can’t lie. Look at what you did for her, fighting and killing all these men…”

She steps right up to his face. 

“...And you couldn’t even kill one for me,” she hisses at him. Brad trembles slightly. 

“I’m sorry-” She stops him again.

“You’re not sorry,” she growls in his face, her hidden eyes finally visible as her hair parts. Her gaze pierces Brad’s heart with remorse. She points at him accusingly, her hand shaking slowly for emphasis. “You. You ran away. You left me in that house alone. With him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And you knew!”, she screams at him, making the older man flinch violently. “You knew what was happening in that house, what he did to me- You knew! He hurt you too, so you knew exactly what he could do to me! And you didn’t do anything. You ran away! AND I WAITED FOR YOU!”

“I’m so sorry…” 

“I WAITED FOR YOU TO COME AND SAVE ME!!,” she screams into his face, and Brad collapses into a cave wall, sliding down. 

“...i’m so, s-so sorry,” he says miserably, looking up at her. 

She stares at him with one uncovered eye, and she doesn’t break his gaze. 

“Why do you hate me?,” she asks, reflecting his misery. 

He shakes his head feebly at her, dring to dissuade her from thinking that. She doesn’t look convinced. She toys with the rope that hangs around her neck, looking at it impassively.

“So why didn’t you come and save me? Why do all this for her?” She looks up at him, and Brad swears her dress turns pink for a moment. 

“Is it because she looks just like me?” There is ire in her tone, and she looks at him with disappointment that brings pain into Brad’s heart. She looks away and for a second, she looks wistful. “Your second chance, huh?”

She looks back at him.

“You’re a selfish bastard, you know that?” 

Her bluntness caught him off-guard and he lets out a huff of air, a wisp of a chuckle as if she’d made a joke. He stiffens right after, believing to have offended her by laughing, but finds himself relieved as she also lets out a light laugh. 

“But you don’t need me to tell you that, you live with that knowledge each day of your life.” She smiles at him sourly. “And you don’t learn.”

She sits down criss-cross in front of him, and her smile falls to reveal somber tiredness in her face. It’s whiplash with how quickly her mood shifts, but he supposes it’s because hallucinations can only last so long. 

“You learned nothing from what happened with me, did you?” He stays silent.

“Your selfishness, your guilt, and pity. You know what that did to me?”

“It killed you,” Brad finally manages to murmur out. 

“No,” Lisa cuts in sharply, eyes burning with a cold flame. “You killed me.”

It hurts less than Brad thought it would, to hear those accusatory words. But it’s hard to feel pain at something you constantly remind yourself of like you’d prepared for the worst and when it finally happens, you’re already so numb. But it doesn’t mean it still doesn’t hurt. 

“Everyone you surround yourself with,” she echoes, face slackening. “You hurt. It’s just what you do, Brad.”

“I know,” he replies, but the pain lingers for longer this time. 

“I know you know,” she says, looking very disappointed. Whether that disappointment is directed at him or at something else, he’s not entirely sure. “You just can’t seem to break bad habits though, can you?”

“...”

“People you care about, people you  _ love _ ,” she rephrases, glaring off into the outside of the cave. “Like that little ‘second chance’ of yours, you hurt and cause her pain. A washed-up junkie for a father? You can’t even get yourself to function properly for her. You won’t do it, not even for your own daughter.”

She shrugs. “I don’t know what that says about you, in regards to what you would’ve, should’ve, been willing to do for me, your sister-” He winces at the words. “Maybe that means that you’re just what you are, that you’re a selfish bastard, and it reaffirms it.”

She toys with her hands for a bit before her eyes land on a spot on his poncho. “But then… you really did quit that stuff for her, to find her. Right?”

Brad absent-mindedly places his hand over his heart, where a pocket of blue pills rests. 

“You really do love her, more than you did me. You wouldn’t, couldn’t, no. You refused,” she sounded mad again. “You refused to give up taking painkillers for me, and when I passed, you took even more to forget about me. And when that stopped working, you took the blue pills. You took Joy so you could just forget all about me.”

She gets up, and walks over to him, and growls into his face. “But I won’t let you forget me that easy, _ big brother. _ Not after what you did.”

She looks heartbroken the next second after. “You were supposed to protect me. You were supposed to take care of me. I’m your family. How could you fight so hard to forget me?”

Maybe because he wasn’t able to deal with it all. 

Maybe because he was barely becoming an adult when it happened. 

Maybe because he just wanted to escape everything in that house so badly. 

Maybe he just didn’t want to think about how it was all his fault.

How he could’ve just stopped by, once. And that might have been all that it would’ve taken. To finally stand up to Marty, to take Lisa out of that house, to show Marty that he was no longer the little boy who’d shiver at the sight of him, who he could push around with threats of violence and beatings with thrown beer bottles. 

But a man, a better man than he ever was, and strong enough to shove him back if he so much as raises a hand at him or his sister. A good man. Someone who could finally give his sister and himself the life they deserve. Happy and healthy, away from Marty. Away from all the pain.

But he could only think of how he finally had the ability to not only defend himself, but Lisa too, and he squandered it because he was too afraid of even fathom the idea of seeing his father again.That same little boy’s fear, wracked through him and shook him to his core at the mere sight of that damn house. And he’d go to his karate classes, and his dojo, he’d have a beer with his friends, eat, and sleep in the comfort of his own house, despite how crappy and cheap it was. 

But it was his own nonetheless, while Lisa had nothing. She had nobody. And nowhere she could go to. 

Because not even her brother would go and visit her. Much less come and rescue her. 

Brad doesn’t know what to say, his thoughts spiraling to dark places, and so he doesn’t respond, a lost look glossing over him. But he doesn’t even need to because she still gives him a disgusted sneer. As if she read his intrusive thoughts of self-pity, and shared Brad’s disdain for himself. 

He feels no urge to deny or argue that Buddy is his daughter, therefore also his family. It feels cold and cruel to weigh the value of his daughter and the value of his sister to him. Like weighing the value of pieces of meat in a grocery store. The thought disgusts him.

It’s odd, that he experienced filling out a parental role with Lisa first, having taught her to walk and read. Same with Buddy. But one was his sister, one was his daughter. And both were meant to have similar value to him. Meant to, at least.

A daughter and a sister were just too… too different to compare. 

But if he were to...

He just cowers away from his thoughts. 

“You can’t even stand the truth,” Lisa sneers out, sensing his mental shutdown. “But here. Let me spell it out for you. You,  _ brother _ , don’t do the same for her, you don’t forget. You don’t even try to forget her when times get hard. Maybe ‘cause it’s your second chance that we’re talking about.”

She cocks her head, the loosening rope jostling around it. “Tell me,  _ big brother _ , if she didn’t look so much like me, would you try to forget her too?”

Brad doesn’t respond, and his hand curls into a desperate fist over the pocket of pills, as if threatening to take some to make her go away. Like holding a weapon to her to make her back off. Lisa doesn’t budge though. 

She suddenly pulls back, her smile back in place. “Oh wait, that’s right! You’ve already done that before! Dusty, wasn’t it?”

Brad’s grips tighter. 

“Yup, you did take a lot to forget about him. You don’t feel guilty about it, at all, not even a little bit. He looks nothing like me, nothing like your ‘daughter’, and you just didn’t want to deal with him anymore once that little accident happened. You just gave up. It got too hard to deal with the guilt, so you forgot, so you wouldn’t have to deal with the pain.” 

She drops herself back down to sit, crossing her arms. Demeanor turning cold again as she leans in, looming over him, shadowing him with unbridled hate in her eyes. “You do that a lot with people you love.”

He doesn’t know how much more he can stand her talking to him. She smiles back at him, nonchalance falling over her, but the damage has already been done. Brad’s falling back into his shame and panicking.

“Noticing a pattern here?”

He’s close, so close to breaking. He reaches into his pocket. 

“See, even now you can’t help yourself.”

Please, stop talking. If he can just take one.

“You’re so selfish, Brad.”

He pulls one out. It’ll take all the pain away.

“Would you even stop if I asked you, begged you, not to do it?”

He held it in his palm, rolling it, taking in the color. A bright, blue sky.

Make him feel nothing.

“Thought so.”

He raises it to his mouth.

A sunny day. 

  
...

“Brad?” 

Brad stops, dropping the pill on the ground, and clamoring up to stand. Lisa looks surprised too, she stands with him and looks out of the cave’s entrance. No one’s there, but they both heard someone call him. Or was it another hallucination? 

“...Terry?”, he calls out hesitantly, as if waiting for him to step inside the cave. No one did though. But it still doesn’t stop either of them from looking out at the entrance. 

“Huh”, she remarks, as if stumped. She looks down to where the blue pill had fallen and now rested on the ground. She then turns to him, her expression both curious and serious. 

“What is he to you?”, she asks, and for the first time during all this, there’s no tone of accusation, or hurt. But rather like whatever he answers, is of utmost importance to her.

“Do you love him?” 

“...”

“...A sunny day, huh?”, is all she says, and before Brad’s eyes, she fades away into nothingness. As if she were never there. 

Brad stares at the spot Lisa once occupied, and forces himself to look up at the cave’s roof, feeling his dread ease as he sees nothing suspended in the air. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been keeping and turns back to the exit, intending on just rounding the party up to sit down for breakfast.

Until he comes face to face with a nervous Terry a little ways away from the cave. He seemed to have been nervously debating himself on climbing up to come to see him. The hint lord raises his head for a second and lets out a choked sound as if he’s surprised to see him. Maybe even scared. 

Brad keeps his gaze set on Terry, drinking in the comfort of not being alone with his thoughts anymore, and maybe to a smaller extent because it’s Terry. Typical that he focuses on what he’s feeling before he even acknowledges the obvious discomfort Terry is exhibiting in his presence. Absolutely selfish. 

_ Everyone you love... _

Terry takes a second before he scrambles up the plateaus to reach the platform the cave and Brad rest on, but even when he gets there, he’s at a loss for what to say. Brad is too. 

When Terry does speak, it’s not an explanation or apology or an excuse he gives for what happened this morning, instead, it’s short and to the point, but choppy with anxiousness.

“F-found a few items, we have enough stuff now for a good c-couple of days now, if we ration stuff smartly!”

Brad nods, silently gesturing for them to go back down, mentally and emotionally drained already so early in the day. Terry nods, looking uncomfortable at the silence, swallowing thickly as he rubs his arms. A shiver passes through him briefly, but Brad doesn’t notice, too absorbed in his thoughts. 

They both begin heading down the hill, as a blue pill rests inside the cave with the bleeding sun finally rising enough to hit it, where it previously hid in the shade. It shines a bright, blue. Like a sky on a happy, sunny day. 

... _ you disappoint. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will attempt to make the updates more consistent. But I am very busy at the moment. However, stay tuned. I have at least the next 2 chapters planned.


	10. A short reprieve filled with red static

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: descriptions of violence, alluded to child abuse, and anxiety/depression rooted thoughts.

They’d kept walking that day. The group had decided by vote that they wouldn’t be taking the truck for the rest of the day, having rested well already, and not entirely eager to go from a hot desert to cold, hard metal floors again. Quietly though, Terry had noticed at least three of the men who voted against going back in the truck were sending subtle looks of concern in his direction.

Terry thanked them with a grateful smile, he appreciated their concern and discreteness. Immensely. 

Going back into the truck would’ve just made him feel godawful with the whiplash he’d get from the temperature change. Hell, he still didn’t feel all there yet. But he was getting better, he reminded himself. The whiskey had helped and now the only indication he ever fell ill was a slight warmth in his head, which would no doubt go away soon. He hoped.

And so, their trek continued, now with Fardy, who had decided he’d follow them from a distance on his truck. He’d appreciated the gesture of rescuing him from the factory and had decided, under the Hernandez family’s authority and influence, to aid them on their journey in any way he can, including the aid his brothers could provide. 

Of course, when he’d said this he’d sent a slightly teary, but grateful acknowledgement, in the form of a nod, in Terry’s direction. Which Terry couldn’t fault him for, he had been the one to insist on his rescue, and…

...and stepped between him and Brad. 

He briefly wonders what would’ve happened if he hadn’t intervened, and he finds himself sinking, feeling sick with a depressingly rational terror eating at his conscience. He desperately wants to believe nothing bad would’ve happened, that Brad would have come to his senses on time and would’ve taken Fardy with them without further insistence from him or anybody else. 

That he’d do the right thing. 

But he’s not sure. 

He... can’t be sure. 

That look in his eyes... the fireball charring his hands from the intense amount of energy he was putting on it. The utter aura of deadliness and rage that Brad exuded at that very moment…

It scared Terry. 

It scared him so bad, he’d nearly curled into a ball and cried.

Because he doesn’t know how to deal with that type of fear, that anger directed at him. It made him feel small and delicate. Helpless. Like when he was a kid. And how his mom and dad used to look at him like that. 

And what’s worse is that he’s still helpless. God, he is. 

He acts big and tough. Makes himself look like a cool guy, someone he’d always aspired to be, someone who’d have friends, someone who could be loved. But he was anything but. 

And Brad. His best friend. His closest and first real friend. Looking at him like that.

It’d made a wreck of him on the inside. 

But… he’s glad to have had the nerves to keep his cool. To stop Brad, even if virtually there’s probably nothing he could’ve done. He’s weak when he fights. 

And compared to Brad... he’s practically worthless. 

Really, Fardy having said something and offered to fix that bridge, and give them a ride on his truck. That probably saved him. 

Despite his “Lord of Hints” tall-tale persona, he actually did trek a long way to Olathe. He was a traveler. So he knows the value in vehicular transit now, and it is hellishly valuable. Not to mention tools to fix bridges and stuff. Utterly invaluable. 

Still, he smiles bashfully, unused to the silent praise, and not quite sure if he was happy receiving it due to the circumstance around it. Really, he feels like a sham taking any credit. 

But he doesn’t say it, unwilling to make this situation any more awkward. 

It isn’t long though that trouble finds them again in the form of gangs attacking them again, and once again Terry finds himself in an awkward spot, being chased down by one of the attackers. 

He clutched the satchel at his side, a small bag filled with magic-infused food and alcohol to heal them in battle, and as the pointed healer of their group, Terry’s bag of supplies for the group. When he can, he throws a little cheer towards the party’s way, hoping emotional support will do for now, because he can’t stop to tend to them medically. 

It’s times like these that he wishes Maddog would’ve come with them to fight today, but it was his and Rooster’s turn to scout and collect further supplies for the day. So medical assistance was down to only him and his bag.

...And he was busy being chased by some guy. Granted, he was certain he’d seen a knife in the other man’s pocket, and he wasn’t willing to take the chance of finding out if it really was. 

He feels shame flood through him as he knows he’s basically hogging all their stuff in his arms, and the guys probably need something to heal soon. But he’s scared. 

And it’s stupid that he’s scared, that he doesn’t want to get hurt, but he’s not exactly the sturdiest fella in their group. A couple of well-landed punches and he’d probably be out cold. And no doubt the guy would take their supplies if he did pass out or something. 

He was fairly sure that the guy was after him for the essential materials he carried, so he kept an iron grip on it as he weaved through the party and the attacking gang, trying to shake off the guy chasing him. 

As he did, he tried to keep an eye out on his friends, watching them fight off the gang. He’d seen Olan land several good shots on them pierced from the top of the valley, elevated from the ground fight but still dodging a couple of projectiles that were thrown at him.

Nern was in the valley with them, finger blasts being shot occasionally before the historian would switch back to his gun, mumbling an odd story under his breath, contemplative as ever. Beastborn was next to him, whip flying madly and unpredictably like an angry snake as he snarled in warning, sometimes landing a brutal bite to one of the enemy’s arms. 

Brad was there too, blasting fireballs and throwing strong, fast punches before he used raw brute force to tackle several of them down at once. Brutally and efficiently fighting them all simultaneously when he could, and decimating any poor soul unlucky enough to have his entire focus.

He was a really skilled fighter.

That’s more than he can say for himself, _ the weak piece of shit that he was _, Terry thought to himself. 

He kept running while he tried to keep his heart from beating and bursting out of his chest, his ailment from this morning creeping once again as he began to overheat from the running. He felt the inklings of a tremble in his lungs. And no doubt his already fragile physique was not doing him any favors. 

And yet he still kept running, because he couldn’t let the guy take all of their supplies just like that because he was a little tired. 

He didn’t want to be the reason why they were already gonna lose all their hard work this morning. The person who’d made it harder for all of them to survive out here.

But he could only keep running for so long.

At some point he began running back through the two groups, right in-between the chaos. Terry forced his eyesight to clear the barest bit from the slow blurriness overtaking it, to spot Olan, who was about to shoot an arrow at one of the enemies. Terry gathered what little air he could muster in his burning lungs to call out to the marksman on higher ground.

“O-OLAN, DUDE!” Olan lowered his bow immediately and brought his head up to catch the sight of Terry just barely outrunning one of the enemies. Panicked concern flew through the marksman's face, noticing that Terry was slowly but steadily staggering in his steps, and then remembering Terry waking up sick this morning… this was bad. 

But before he could run down to go help, Terry called out to him once more. 

“D-DUDE!” He raised the bag up to the sky as much as he could with exhaustion viciously eating at him. “CATCH!!” Terry threw the satchel with the items, Olan watched for a second before his sharp eyes tracked the bag, running and diving for it, effectively catching it in his hands. He got back on his feet not a moment later, expecting the man who’d been chasing Terry to start chasing him, expecting him to have started scrambling up the valley to him. 

But he wasn’t. 

He was still chasing Terry. 

This wasn’t about the supplies.

Olan and Terry both felt cold shoot up their spines, and Terry sent a frightened, final look towards Olan before he let out a horrified scream, “HELP!!”

The scream had torn through the valley they were in, echoing as it bounced off the rock walls, and the desperation it held was what knocked Olan into action.

He dropped the bag, lifting his bow once more, intending on aiming at the bastard chasing Terry. But as soon as he’d aligned the arrow to the attacker's head, ready to take the shot, they’d turned a corner and disappeared from his sight. Olan took a harsh breath, eyes wide under his hat, slowly lowering his bow with rising dread.

“...Oh, this is bad, this is really bad! Shit!,” He muttered as swept down to pick the bag off the ground, sliding down from his perch swiftly.

Making a beeline back to the group, he caught sight of their attackers fleeing, some of their companions dead on the ground. One or two severely wounded. 

Olan disregarded the bodies as he rushed up yelling to get their attention, “Guys!!” 

Nern and Beastborn had dropped what they were doing immediately, turning to address Olan as he ran up to them. And even Brad, who'd been distracted with finishing off one of the enemies, fist raised to deliver a final punch on the guy who he was holding up with his other fist, dropped him immediately as soon as he saw the satchel in Olan’s hands. 

Brad felt his heart seize.

“Olan, where’s Te-”

“There’s a guy chasing him!” the marksman cut him off. “And I don’t think it’s because he wants to loot him.” He grimly shook the bag in his hands which was still full of supplies. 

Beastborn walked over to the bag, sniffing it to recognize Terry, letting out a low growl of concern and rage at the man’s absence. Nern was left speechless with only a small, “Oh dear..” escaping him.

Brad needed to hear nothing else as he rushed out from the group, not looking back, set to find their missing party member. His missing… friend. Best-friend?

No, his companion. 

His missing companion.

His companion, who was in danger.

As he ran he tried to look down the valley as far as he could, hoping to see them still running down it, to give him a clear vision of the guy he was gonna beat the crap out of...

But there was no one there. He felt desperation and worry ebb at his rage as he began to see several diverging passageways fill the valley walls. God no, there were so many…

He quickened his pace, his heart pounding and a dull-ache forming in his head, but he persisted. He wildly looked around the valley, eyeing the several turns and tunnels littering the rock walls. Terry had to be around here somewhere.

His search, which had started as being an objective to find Terry and his attacker initially, had switched to getting his hands on the bastard who was chasing him, had switched again solely to find Terry. Hoping he’d hidden in one of the small caves. Hoping he was safe-

“AAHHHH!!!” A terrible scream ripped out of one of the caves on Brad’s left.

He felt his heart skip several beats as he ran faster, turning a sharp corner in the valley, knowing exactly who that voice belonged to. Who that scream belonged to. 

He felt panic begin to overwhelm him the longer it took to locate Terry, to see him alive before his eyes, to see him safe and sound in front of him. 

He felt his anxiety and paranoia-ridden mind begin to form thoughts, bad thoughts, about what he might find when he comes across Terry and his attacker. To think of the possibility of Terry having gotten caught by the guy chasing him. Could he be hurt? Dead? 

It made Brad sick to think of any more scenarios, and darker thoughts only spawned from those possibilities. 

It’s been a while since he’s heard something. 

Brad feels like he’s actually gonna be sick.

But it isn’t until he turns a corner into a dark cave, that he sees Terry on the ground, scrambling to get away from the man. Bruises and cuts that weren’t there before were littering his arms, and he was hunched over like he’d been hit in the stomach, all while holding his newly bruised jaw gingerly in his hand. He’s frightened and hurt as the man towers over him, laughing and jeering at Terry, holding a beer bottle in his hand like a weapon. He howls in laughter as he sees Terry tremble as he raises the bottle mockingly.

“Get up you little bitch! Whaaat~? Too tired~?” he taunts. 

Brad feels his blood boil as he takes in the scene, fire crackling in his clenched fists, knuckle turning white. He begins to go further into the cave, fully intended on burning the man all-to-hell. But something happens before he can take a step further, that freezes him right in his track. 

And if he thought he was enraged before, what happens next… **makes him lose his goddamn mind.**

“Hehe, you weak piece of shit!” The man cackles as he raises the bottle and flings it hard, hitting Terry in the head. The glass cracks sharply, falling to the floor and splintering into several tiny pieces, the hit yanking an awful pained yelp from Terry. He tries to curl into himself, holding his side and his head weakly to protect himself.

But he can’t. 

And it just reminds Brad a bit too much about something he’d rather forget.

**A flash of red surrounds him**.

Brad walked towards the man, much more calmly than he thought would be possible, and watched him throw his head back with disgusting laughter dripping from his maw. 

Brad feels utterly nothing as he watches the man’s ugly, gleeful face drop the instant his fist closes around his neck, and he begins to scramble to rip his hand off of himself. He claws at it, tries to kick him to punch him.

But Brad doesn’t let up.

**Blue flashes sharply across his eyes.**

He doesn’t squeeze his fist around the man’s neck, because death by a broken neck is a mercy, too much mercy for someone like him. 

No. Instead he lets him hang from his fist, suspended in the air, slowly choking, slowly dying. 

**Just like she did. **

**Just like he did.**

Letting the bastard drown in his own panic and fear, unable to defend himself. 

Utterly Powerless.

Serving the devil his own medicine.

And Brad doesn’t feel anything.

**Except deep satisfaction.**

But as he holds the man in his iron grip, the bastard suddenly takes a knife out his pocket and lifts his arm, aiming to stab Brad in the eye. Brad sees it all happening out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from the man’s neck.

He can dodge it if he lets go, he knows that, but he doesn’t try to. He’s too deep in. Because this...

He squeezes the tiniest bit.

**This is personal.**

But his tunnel vision is suddenly dissipated as Terry rushes in front of him with a muffled yelp, landing a solid punch to the guy’s wrist, a sharp crack resonating from it. The attacker screams in pain, dropping the knife which lands on Brad’s skull, making a small cut. 

Brad isn’t necessarily severely hurt, but the shock snaps him out of his malicious reverie and he drops the man on the ground from surprise. The man coughs, trying to regain himself, but before he can, Brad crouches down and quickly twists his neck, killing him instantly.

It’s not satisfying, nothing about this is.

He’s not **him**, Brad realizes now as the blue floods out of his eyes at the sound of Terry’s breathing. He calms instantly at the familiar, warm presence of his friend and allows himself to slump a little, muscles un-tensing and anxiety loosening its tight coils in his chest. He leans forward, hunched over the man for a moment, studying him, then studying the knife on the ground.

He was going to let himself be stabbed in the eye.

He doesn’t think too deeply about it as his headache persists in full swing and the similarly familiar but unwelcome ache settles in his skull. He closes his eyes, deciding to just focus on Terry’s breathing while he sorts out his conflicted mind.

The two of them a minute to collect themselves, before Brad finally regains his mental strength, what little may be left for the day, and quickly stands to survey Terry. 

He’s bruised, but nothing looks broken and there are no open wounds on him, other than a few minor cuts. He sighs in relief, but notices Terry doesn’t do the same, instead, his eyes are locked onto Brad’s new cut on his forehead, where a small trickle of blood has begun to drip its way down to his eyes. 

He looks ashamed and Brad might have an idea why. 

“It’s okay,” Brad offers as comfort, raising a hand to cover the cut. But it only makes it worse as Terry’s eyes well up with tears, Brad’s own widen. He suddenly feels nervous and unsure how to approach this situation, but before he can do anything, Terry rushes forward and softly gives him a hug. 

Brad feels as if a rug has been swept from under him and he lets his arms hover over Terry’s back for a moment, before he, as gently as he can, hugs him back. He feels Terry’s back shake, with a heavy heart knowing that he’s likely crying, but he says nothing, and just lets him rest his head on his shoulder. 

In the meantime, Brad takes a closer look at Terry’s injuries, scowling as he counts one-too-many, he takes one arm off Terry’s back to shuffle through the pockets in his poncho, hoping to find any healing item he can. Maybe some jerky from this morning or-

A blue pill drops from his poncho, hitting the floor with a crisp crack as it bounces off and rolls on the cave floor, coming to a clean stop in the middle. Brad looks at the blue pill on the ground, eyes locked on it. 

He is overcome with a sick feeling. 

No, he would never have Terry take those. Never.

He rips his eyes away from the pill on the floor, only to be met with Terry’s eyes also looking at the pill on the floor, darting back and forth from it to Brad. He looks nervous, and it makes Brad’s heart squeeze with anxiety. 

He looks afraid. It makes Brad wonder if Terry’s frightened by him, and he finds his stomach sinking with guilt and dread. 

_ Everyone you love… _

He recalled several times in the last few days, how Terry had been avoiding him since the warehouse, how he’d slept away from him, how he’d been more skittish when talking to him. And it made sense, that was the worst part. 

He’d scared him with how he’d handled finding Fardy in the warehouse, with how relentlessly hostile he was. And that misery and hate… it always destroyed and took everything and everyone he cares for. It kills them all.

But Brad is nothing if not a man plagued with pain. 

Maybe death was mercy in his wake, a blessing for all those he hurts. 

For everyone he holds dear. 

His head buzzes with red static.

_ Everyone you love, you- _

But suddenly Terry gently places his hands on either side of Brad’s skull, and he feels a peaceful coolness spread through his temple. Brad is once again startled by the gesture, and he has half a mind to tell Terry to not bother healing him, it was only a small cut. 

And he has an even greater mind wanting to remind Terry that he’s the one that’s littered in bruises, that he should conserve his energy. Brad should be dragging Terry back to camp, getting him a can of coco-la-cola or something now to replenish his energy. 

Terry shouldn’t be using energy, and Brad wants to tell him that, but it takes him a moment to realize that Terry isn’t healing him. 

He’s just there, holding his face gently, and it’s making him feel better.

Terry studies his face, a softness in his eyes, a softness he carries with most of everything he does. A softness he directs at Brad, and he can’t imagine why Terry would. He can’t imagine why Terry shows him such tenderness, such innocent mercy. 

Kindness. 

Why would Terry show him this much kindness, when he doesn’t feel like he deserves it? When Brad is so resigned to the idea that he deserves every single bad thing that happens to him. That people suffer because of him, get killed because of him, get murdered by him. 

If there is such a place as hell, he knows in no uncertain terms, that he’ll be burning in it when he dies. That he’ll drag all those that follow him, into hell with him, no matter how good of a person they are. Just like Terry.

Because Brad is sure that the same fate awaits Terry, and he hopes, somewhere deep in him, that Terry escapes him before it does. That any tenderness that he carries in him can be translated into the only way he knows how to act consistently in kindness, with mercy. That hopefully, that mercy is that Terry survives him, that he repays that kindness Terry shows him, even if it’s as shitty and low-bar as surviving him. 

But it’s as best as he can offer him because miracles don’t exist. They never did. Not even when he was a kid when he used to pray for them day-in and day-out. But back then kindness was a miracle.

And it’s such a foreign concept to Brad, but it’s as innate as nature to Terry.

And it’s that kindness that gives him a sense of relief, something that most of his life has eluded him, escaped him. Something he wanted to selfishly cling onto when offered because he needed a miracle, he needed that mercy, he needed to find that relief somewhere. Even if he snuffed out that kindness and denied its mercy.

Brad is a selfish man.

So he begs and lets himself give an empty prayer to the heavens for Terry to escape him. But Terry is kind, and he’s strong in that sense. Strong in all the ways that Brad is weak, pulling him from the demons that threaten to overtake his mind, making them go away, armed with nothing but his kindness.

And it’s only punctuated as Terry bumps his head softly into Brad, both unwilling to pull away. Too weak, both of them, so they support each other for a moment.

And just like that the static leaves.

…

But the moment is soon interrupted as they hear a groan of pain from the mouth of the cave, and they both pull away from each other. Brad goes out first, keeping a hand extended in front of Terry, unwilling for more damage to come to him with how injured he is.

Terry follows behind him closely, looking over his shoulder, concern, and fear clouding his features. Brad, on the other hand, begins to charge his hands with the crackles of fire, waiting for them to be attacked as soon as they step out of the cave. 

But when they do, there is only a flash of pink rushing up the plateaus, ascending up the valley. And Brad feels beside himself for a moment as he runs from Terry’s side to pursue the person in pink. 

He acknowledges the callousness of what he’s doing, abandoning his companion as soon as he finds him to chase after that flash of pink. But Brad is a selfish man at heart. 

So he ignores the thoughts threatening to awaken his consciousness and gains the strength to keep running after the pink because this is his daughter. It’s got to be his daughter.

He’s so close. 

He feels his heart begin to pound, and blood rush to his ears, deafening him. 

His world closes in on him once more, and he feels his skull begin to buzz again with static, thoughts zeroing in on finding Buddy. Finding his daughter. Saving her. 

Saving **her.**

When he finally makes it up the valley he watches the figure slump over, cathing themselves on a lone wall. Concern immediately overwhelms him and he rushes towards them faster, but when Brad catches up to them, he’s half-disappointed it’s not Buddy, but rather a man. 

And he’s only half-disappointed because he knows this man.

A very familiar man in pink.

“...Rick?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the next chapter planned out now, stay tuned!


End file.
